


it wears a mask

by AquaQuadrant



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Blood, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Claustrophobia, Deception, Dysphoria, Gen, Hostage Situation, Injury, Manipulation, Mentions of Death, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Peter needs a break, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stockholm Syndrome, Threats of harm, and peter deserves better, au where beck spares peter at the trainyard and takes him captive instead, beck is still the bad guy, but there's gonna be very little opportunity for any shippy content, character introspection, i cant believe it took me this long to tag that WHOOPS, in which beck sort of tries to be a father figure for real this time but still in a bad way, lots of genetics talk because author is a bio major, mature language, mild/internalized ableism, my attempt to explain how spider powers would work irl, needles and other medical stuff- not super descriptive, not slash- i cannot emphasize that enough, peter and mj def have feels for each other, some body horror, survivor's guilt, there's some anti-tony stark sentiment because of beck's pov, wrote this the day after seeing it with absolutely no plan in mind so we'll see how this goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2020-06-23 18:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 68,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19707247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaQuadrant/pseuds/AquaQuadrant
Summary: So now here they are. Peter stumbles backwards onto the tracks, just as intended. Fully ensnared in the illusion, he won’t see or hear the train coming- it’s at the corner of Beck’s vision now, the rumble approaching through the earth. They’ve carefully calculated the force applied from a train at this speed, and it’ll be enough to kill even an enhanced human. The death will be untraceable to foul play, and, if Peter’s lucky, fast.But his mask is off. And Beck can see his eyes.~*~Or; Beck has a change of heart at the trainyard, and takes Peter captive instead. In many ways, it turns out much, much worse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** So let me tell you a story about a simple writer who was almost done with her scheduled chapter update, saw Spider-Man: Far From Home, dreamed about a fic, and then sat down the next day and wrote the entire first chapter for it. (Spoiler alert: the author is me).
> 
> SO this is an au where Beck has a change of heart and spares Peter instead of getting him run over by a train. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still VERY MUCH the bad guy, but he decides to silence Peter in a different way; take him captive, using him as leverage so Ned and MJ don’t tell.
> 
> To be completely honest, I have no long-term plan for this fic outlined yet because, well, I came up with it last night. I have no idea where this will go, or when I’ll update next, or how long it will be. I’m just kinda running with the inspiration as I have it. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I only saw the movie once, and haven’t even seen Endgame (LOL) so there might be a few details I’ve misremembered. Also I don’t think Beck’s actual name was Beck?? That was his persona, Quentin Beck, I think. But for the life of me I can’t remember if they called him by a real name in the movie, and my internet searches have turned up dry. So I’ll be calling him Beck. C’est la vie.
> 
> Quote by Joseph Conrad. Hope you enjoy, **please comment** if you do! - Aqua

  
_Who knows what true loneliness is- not the conventional word, but the naked terror?_  
_To the lonely themselves, it wears a mask._  
_The most miserable outcast hugs some memory or illusion._

~*~

__

Chapter One

~*~

They’ve only been fighting a minute when Peter’s mask comes off. 

It’s accidental, the fabric snagging on some sharp metal rod poking out from the half-constructed building, and the rip tears it clean off, clawing an angry red gash up the side of the boy's face. Beck pays no mind and continues his assault, chasing Peter through carefully planned areas, the drones hovering beside him providing the illusions. Absently, he thinks Peter is lucky they chose an unpopulated area- if he had to lose his mask in a fight, at least it was this one.

But it’s far more jarring than Beck expected, to see the effect the illusions have on Peter displayed openly across his face. To see the illusions reflected in his eyes, even. To hear each gasp of pain or cry of alarm, clear as crystal. With the mask came a sense of anonymity. Peter could be anyone, feeling anything at any time. His expressions were concealed and his voice was muffled.

But now it’s all out there for Beck to see. Peter’s face is twisted with horror, and he fights the ever-changing illusions with all the desperation of one fighting for their life. Which, of course, he is. But it’s worse, _seeing_ it like this. Seeing in his eyes how badly he wants to live.

It’s not like the past few attacks, with the fake elementals. Those did damage, yes. Casualties, though few, were still casualties. And Beck was there for it, conducting the whole illusion. But it was different. He hadn’t met any of the people who died. He didn’t know their names, didn’t directly lift a hand against them.

It was impersonal, the backs of fleeing people and their screams filtering through audio feed. Nameless and faceless numbers in a death toll. It was impersonal, like snapping your fingers and killing half of all life in the universe, not even sticking around to watch them crumble into dust.

He could deal with impersonal. He dealt exclusively in impersonals, as a matter of fact.

This was personal. This was a boy, a sixteen-year-old kid, that’d trusted him. A kid he’d manipulated, and lied to, and dutifully played the father figure for. They’d put Beck’s persona together with extensive research- Peter Parker was orphaned as a young child, raised by his aunt (the uncle died not long before Peter got his powers), mentored by Tony Stark, and it was so easy to predict what would resonate with him the most.

To play mature, and put together, and to have all the answers in a time Peter desperately needed them. But to have that openness, that emotional vulnerability and the _oh so important_ tragic backstory that made Peter able to connect, to relate, to empathize. That slight hint of a tired, once-broken mess of a man that made Peter think, _he’s like me-_ they couldn’t have Beck’s persona be _too_ perfect and polished, after all. Their focus testing found it intimidated teenagers and Peter had been drawn to Stark, the most imperfect man Beck could think of.

Beck had dissected this kid’s life under a microscope, reduced his feelings to variables like the exact volume he should speak at and the style of facial hair to wear. Planning things like ‘risking his life’ to save the day, and coming back just as Peter was thinking _not again._ And it’d been so easy- Peter had met Beck only three times before clinging to the idea that he could be the next Iron Man. Before all but _begging_ him to take Edith, to take the responsibility Peter wasn’t prepared for, to take the burden of Stark’s legacy and give the world something to believe in.

This was personal. This was blood on a boy’s face put there by Beck’s hand, a pair of wide, terrified eyes locked onto him and him alone. It was a nightmare of illusions specifically designed to pick apart Peter’s deepest, most intimate fears, to truly and completely unhinge him as effectively as possible. 

It would’ve been impersonal to have a drone put a bullet in his head, but Peter had sensed him too soon and the chance had slipped by. It would’ve been kinder, too.

So now here they are. Peter stumbles backwards onto the tracks, just as intended. Fully ensnared in the illusion, he won’t see or hear the train coming- it’s at the corner of Beck’s vision now, the rumble approaching through the earth. They’ve carefully calculated the force applied from a train at this speed, and it’ll be enough to kill even an enhanced human. The death will be untraceable to foul play, and, if Peter’s lucky, fast.

But his mask is off. And Beck can see his eyes.

His eyes are impossibly wide, his pupils shrunken into pinpricks out of terror. The sheer emotion in his expression hits Beck like a brick wall; confusion and heartbreak and betrayal and fear, _so much fear,_ it seems like too much for his small body, makes his face look too many years younger. And as Beck watches, a tear rolls down his cheek.

It’s such a small thing. Unexpected to change anything. Though Beck works in illusions and misdirection, he doesn’t think himself a coward, unable to look an enemy in the eye as he kills them. He doesn’t think something like this would matter, after everything he’s done to get to this point.

But he is, and it does.

Because as generally untroubled as Beck is about his work, as well as he is able to rationalize and justify to himself, he knows this isn’t the same. He knows, with every fiber of his being, that this face- those eyes- will haunt him. That he’ll be unable to shake the story of a kid forced to grow up too fast, thrust into a world he was entirely unprepared for, and then pushed and tormented to his death by someone he trusted. He may win, but he’ll pay for it. Dearly.

In that second before the train hits, Beck makes his choice. He leans forward, grabs Peter by the front of his shirt, and pulls him off the tracks.

The train barrels past, so close the wind whips Peter’s hair about, and Beck feels it on his face. The roar of it drowns everything out, all sound and thought. All he can do is look down at Peter, face carefully impassive. Peter is frozen in his grip. Gasping, eyes wide and overflowing with tears. His face is pale with shock, a harsh contrast to the bright red wound that's bleeding freely now. His hands have come up to grab the arm Beck holds him with, but that’s all they do. Grab, like he’s holding on for his life, in more ways than one.

The train disappears into the tunnel, its hum fading from the earth. A thick silence envelops them, interrupted only by the sound of Peter’s heavy breathing. No one speaks in Beck’s ear comm, knowing better to wait. No drones whiz and blast and crash about, the machines hanging motionless in the air as they await the next instruction.

Beck sighs, and pulls his hand away, letting Peter drop to the ground. He seems to crumble there, hands digging into the fine gravel of the trainyard, his shallow breaths rasping through the air.

“You just had to make this difficult, didn’t you?” Beck asks finally, accusatory for no good reason.

Only then does the voice come in his ear. _“Uh, sir? What are you-”_

“There’s another way,” Beck interrupts, glaring unhappily down at Peter. The kid still hasn’t moved, which is surprising. He’s seen how tenacious Peter is, and would’ve expected him to leap into the battle again by now.

 _“Oh, great.”_ William sounds relieved- and of course he does, because Beck told him Peter’s blood would be on his hands at the very start, and he hadn’t been keen to accept responsibility. _“I just, uh… what is it?”_

“Prepare a secure room,” Beck says into the comm. Then, down at Peter, “you’re coming with me, 'Spider-Man.' You’ll never get the chance to tell anyone what you saw. And I doubt your friends will try, if it’s your life at stake- are you listening to me?” he breaks off abruptly, a bite of frustration heating his voice.

Peter still hasn’t moved, hasn’t acknowledged Beck at all. He’s trembling, Beck realizes, tears streaming down his face as he continues heaving for breath. It’s… disconcerting.

“Edith, target status,” Beck murmurs.

The AI’s voice comes readily. _“Target is experiencing a panic attack.”_

Panic attack? Beck didn’t think superheroes got those.

“Oh, come _on,_ I’m trying to show you some mercy here,” he snaps, bending down to sneer in Peter’s face. “Little brush with a train never hurt anyone.” He knows Peter has survived worse. Lifting a hand, he sharply backhands Peter across the face, sending him flying a few feet away.

Peter doesn’t pick himself up off the ground. Instead, he curls into himself, shaking even more violently. As Beck walks over to him, he can hear Peter’s voice, high and breathless.

“I’m _sorry,_ I’m sorry m’ sorry I’m s- sorry… I wasn’t g- good enough, I- I’m sorry, _please,_ I’m sorry…”

And then Beck realizes; Peter’s not panicking because of the near train collision. He’s panicking because of the illusions- specifically, the one of his dead mentor rising from the grave to condemn him.

Beck lets out a whistle, low and pitiful. “Stark really did a number on you, didn’t he, kid?”

A brilliant, super-powered teen reduced to a sobbing mess because of a dead man. While Beck won’t claim he was being totally genuine in his and Peter’s conversations, he really did mean it when he told Peter he didn’t owe anyone anything. Especially not some long-gone, spoiled, irresponsible, selfish billionaire playing hero.

It’s yet another thing Stark has ruined in his arrogance, the effects reaching even beyond his death, and it burns Beck up inside.

“It’s a shame,” he says, quieter. “Maybe one day you’ll see that he was dirt. Maybe…”

A pause. Beck tilts his head, considering, looking down at Peter with a furrowed brow. While their operation has evolved far past a simple bitter grudge against Stark, something petty and spiteful inside him senses a challenge.

Stark left behind a legacy, one Beck will take as his own soon enough. But what if he could do the same with this boy? This boy hand-chosen by Stark to be an Avenger, trained to believe in him despite all his faults and follow him willingly into battle despite how hopeless it was. This boy who once died because of Stark’s failings- Peter blipped, Beck knows- yet was still faithful to the end, even now after he’s gone.

It was a remarkable thing Stark accomplished, to so completely win this boy to his side. Beck thinks it will be twice as remarkable, to turn the boy against him.

_“Sir, the plan?”_

Beck is too pleased with his new idea to snap at William. “Make sure that room’s ready to go,” he says, “and start making a plan to intercept those kids before they reach the airport. I’m bringing him home.”

Peter’s stopped mumbling, and has rolled onto his knees. He’s still breathing heavily, tears and blood staining his cheeks, but from the way he’s started looking around, Beck can tell he’s coming back to himself.

Beck glances down at the control panel on his forearm and types a quick command. A drone materializes next to him, lowering its camouflage shielding, and fires a small bolt at Peter.

Electricity flickers over Peter’s body, ripping a cry of pain from his throat. He slumps to the ground, unconscious. Beck calls for a pickup and scoops Peter up, noting absently that he’s bleeding in several places. It’s nothing to be concerned about.

He’s got a lot of work to do.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Reminder that all the anti-Tony stuff is Beck’s opinion, not mine. Also, that illusion of zombie Iron Man attacking Peter was super fucked up, right? Right.
> 
> Again, no clue what’s gonna happen with this, it took me by surprise. But comments would be greatly appreciated! - Aqua


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** Blood, injury, language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hi guys! I’m absolutely floored by the amazing response I got to the first chapter, thank you guys so much! With your support, I was super motivated to get this done quick! I’m thinking shorter chapters are definitely the way to go for this fic, I can get them done MUCH faster. At the moment, I’m planning to get one chapter up a week- once school starts, all bets are off.
> 
> Thank you so much for your support, it makes me even more excited to take this project on! Keep it up! - Aqua

Chapter Two

~*~

Beck pushes through the heavy double doors, striding into the room.

This temporary headquarters they’ve set up is quite large. All the space he could ever need to test fly his drone projections, and house all the technology, and rooming for his crew. This room in particular is mostly bare, functioning as a meeting room. It’s occupied at the moment, crew members standing by the walls in little clumps here and there, a murmur of conversation filling the air.

A lone chair sits in the very center of the room. Tied to the chair is an unconscious Peter Parker.

One of Beck’s more recent hires, Mark, walks over at his entrance. Worked as SHIELD security personnel before the fall, laid off for insubordination. “He’s been unconscious the entire time, sir,” Mark reports.

“Good.” Beck comes to a stop just beside the chair, studying Peter for a moment.

His sleep seems deep, his face perfectly still and his breathing slow. Upon closer inspection, the boy took a worse beating at the trainyard than Beck thought. His suit is ripped in several places, exposing sharp red cuts and darkening bruises. The gash on his face is the worst by far, trailing from his left temple down to the bottom of his jaw, and just barely missing his eye. Though the bleeding’s stopped, it's still red and ugly, and might even need stitches.

That can wait. Beck speaks into his comm. “Have the kids been isolated?”

_“Yes, sir. Flat tire on the bus had them all get off, and the targets immediately snuck away from the group. They’re in a private area, you shouldn’t be disturbed.”_

Perfect. “Quiet on set,” Beck calls, and all conversation in the room halts.

Beck pulls up the feed of a drone, hundreds of miles away. Its lurking right above the targets, hidden, its view projecting a holographic image from the panel on his forearm. The small-scale image of two teenagers flickers to life in the air. They’re huddled together, talking, anxiety displayed clearly on their faces.

Beck eases the drone closer, and the audio kicks in.

“- heard from Peter at all?” the boy is asking.

The boy- Ned Leeds. Sixteen years old, blipped. Peter’s first confidant. High performer in science and technology, clean record.

“No, I was hoping you would have,” the girl replies. “How long was this Berlin thing supposed to take, anyways?”

The girl- Michelle Jones. Prefers to go by MJ. Sixteen years old, blipped. High grades across the board, some behavioral problems in early middle school. 

“I don’t know, but this doesn’t feel right,” Ned murmurs.

Beck choses that moment to lower the drone’s camouflage. At the same time, he turns on a camera on his forearm that projects his image from the drone in front of the kids. They both cry out in surprise, jumping back- something Beck is thoroughly amused by.

“Good to finally meet you,” he greets, wasting no time. “I believe you know me as Mysterio. Your friend Peter isn’t coming back. I’ve captured him.” At the alarm on their faces, he clarifies, “don’t worry, he’s fine. But if you want to keep it that way, then you must _never_ try to tell anyone what you know. Not your friends, not your parents, not your teachers, not the goddamn FBI. Understand?”

“You got Peter?” Ned exclaims, horrified.

MJ glares at the projection of Beck, trying to hide her fear. “Let us see him.” 

Beck turns the camera to the right, bringing Peter into view. Both teens gasp.

“Peter!”

“Is he _dead?!”_

Beck scowls at Ned in annoyance. “If he was dead, I wouldn’t be bothering with all this, now would I?”

MJ is staring at the feed intensely. “How do we know that’s not a projection?” she asks warily.

Ah, clever girl. Beck smiles indulgingly. “Alright, let’s see if we can convince you.” He glances at Mark, just out of the camera’s view. “Wake him up.”

Mark lifts a bucket of ice water and pours it over Peter’s head.

Peter wakes up violently, jerking against his restraints with a shout of alarm. Wildly, he looks around, his wide eyes hazy and confused, breath gasping. The wound on his face has started bleeding again.

Beck snaps to get his attention. “Hey, _hey._ Eyes here.” He holds out his forearm so the camera is directly facing Peter. “What’s something only the real Peter Parker would know? You’re trying to convince your friends.”

Beck can see Peter process what’s happening at lightning speed. The confusion wipes off his face in an instant, realization hollowing his eyes and flashes of emotion overtaking him- he’s scared for them, knowing what danger they’re in, and he’s scared of the sudden responsibility he has to give a good enough answer.

There’s something he’s trying to push down, too- equal amounts of hurt and anger directed at Beck. He doesn’t completely hide it, he’s not practiced enough, too young and inexperienced. Beck doesn’t expect anything else; after all, it’s taken him years to hone acting into a weapon. Not everyone can pull off a hoax of this magnitude and keep a straight face about it.

Even amidst this turmoil, there’s determination in the hard line of Peter’s jaw; the slight tug he gives on his binds is almost absent minded, like part of his brain is gathering information for an escape while the other part thinks of an answer. But it’s mostly urgency, a grim sort of resolve as he puts his mind to the task.

It all happens in less than a second. He’s able to instantly compartmentalize his emotions and focus his thoughts, after waking up in an unfamiliar place and an unfamiliar situation, following being knocked unconscious in a battle. And he’s sixteen- most teenagers aren’t even coherent when they first wake up, and that’s on a good day.

It’s _incredible._ And to think, Stark didn’t look twice at this kid until he was swinging from buildings. Even Stark, a man who was intimately familiar with being a normal man in a world of gods with nothing but his intellect behind him, had fallen victim to society’s biggest blunder; to overlook anyone who wasn’t the right kind of extraordinary.

“MJ’s favorite flower is the black dahlia,” Peter says breathlessly. “Like- like the murder.”

Beck raises his eyebrows. Over the projection, he hears MJ inhale sharply- alright, so that means something to her. Score one for Peter.

“And Ned- on the plane- Ned tried to get our seats switched around so I- so I could sit next to her.” Peter blinks rapidly, water and blood dripping off his chin. “I… I had this plan…”

Ned’s expression is pinched. “Peter…”

Beck pulls away, turning his back to Peter. Some part of him is surprised at the memories Peter has recalled. They seem so… elementary. But then again, he reasons with himself, this _is_ a kid. An adult might use some deep dark secret or private intel to prove their identity. It’s a strange dissonance, to see Peter talk about things like his innocent high school crush while badly hurt and tied to a chair. Strange to think that not very long ago, the biggest problem Peter had was sitting next to the girl he liked.

Pity that life is beyond him now. Pity that Fury’s selfishness and Peter’s own inability to look the other way has brought him to this point. Beck didn’t put Peter in this situation- after securing Edith, he would’ve been perfectly content for Peter to disappear from the superhero scene entirely, and leave it to him- so Beck won’t apologize for it or feel any guilt. But even so, he’s aware of a small flicker of sympathy.

It does nothing to sway him, of course. “Are you convinced, now?” Beck asks.

The projection quality is so great, Beck can see the tears gathering in MJ’s eyes. “Why are you doing this?” she asks, her voice low and tight.

Teenagers, always with the questions. “Oh, would you prefer I kill all three of you, instead?” Beck asks sarcastically.

“Why aren’t you?” MJ asks, a hint of challenge this time. Her hands are curled into fists at her sides, shaking. “Why are you doing all this instead of just killing us? What do you want with Peter?”

Maybe too clever.

Beck sets his jaw, eyes narrowing. “None of this is your concern anymore,” he says harshly. “Let me put this in no uncertain terms; if either of you try to talk, I will kill him. And with Edith, keeping an eye on you will be child’s play.”

Fear glistens in their eyes, the dawning horror of recognizing the trap laid around them. Beck feels a ripple of satisfaction- hopefully this will be enough to scare the brats into compliance.

He leans in. “So, bit of advice? Forget this. Forget you ever met Peter Parker. Don’t mind the digital surveillance- as long as you’re not trying to expose me, I’ll leave you alone. So go ahead and pirate movies, or download porn, or whatever it is you teens like to do, and get on with your lives. And hey, stay away from big cities,” he adds with a wink. “Mysterio works best with a large audience.”

From somewhere beyond the projection, Beck hears a bus horn. Both teens jump at the sound.

“Sounds like your ride is ready.” Beck grins at them. “Back to your lives, now. And don’t worry about Peter. No harm will come to him, unless you give me a reason.”

Behind him, Peter’s voice calls out. “Ned, MJ, I’m sorry-”

Beck ends the transmission, calling the drone back. He sighs, turning around to face Peter. “You do that a lot, you know,” he says, crossing his arms, _“apologize.”_

Peter ignores the comment. “Don’t hurt them,” he pleads. There’s a shine to his eyes, and Beck wonders if Peter has always been this close to breaking, despite all his bravado, or if Beck’s misjudged how far he’s pushed him.

“Don’t try to escape, and I won’t have to,” Beck counters easily. He checks the time. The scheduled attack is fast approaching. “Now, I’d love to stick around and get you settled in, but I’ve got an Avenger’s level threat to take care of, so if you’ll excuse me…”

Beck slips a small metal rod out of his pocket, no bigger than a pen, and jabs one end into Peter’s shoulder. The boy’s initial cry of pain dies off as the tranquilizer begins to take effect, his head lolling and his body going limp.

God, Beck loves having a weapons development division now. Though only three people strong, they’ve created an incredibly fast acting tranquilizer that’s easily concealed and easily applicated. And no long-term effects either- only drawback is that it requires a substance that’s illegal in over a hundred countries. But the wonderful thing about a secret operation is that they don’t have to follow regulations.

Beck tucks the weapon back into his pocket, turning away. “Take him to his room, and go find something for him to wear. T-shirt and sweat pants, size adult small.” He doesn’t pay particular attention to who the order goes to; between all the people standing about, one of them is bound to do it.

“And the kids?” Mark asks, setting to untying Peter.

Ah, yes. “Edith,” Beck says, “be a dear and initiate maximum surveillance protocol on targets MJ and Ned, would you?”

 _“Protocol initiated,”_ Edith confirms in his ear.

“Set up the monitors,” Beck adds as he leaves the room. “And someone make sure to record the news broadcast. It’d be a shame for Peter to miss Mysterio’s shining moment.”

The heavy doors swing shut behind him, and he sends an order to William to bring out his tactical suit.

It’s showtime.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I promise we’ll get to Peter’s POV in due time, right now I sort of need Beck to set everything up. Rest assured we’ll hear from our good boi soon enough. By the way, I have a Tumblr if you'd like to reblog the fic or come say hi! aquaquadrant.tumblr.com.
> 
> I plan to update next Saturday, **please leave a comment** if you enjoyed! - Aqua


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** language, death mention, threats of harm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hi everyone, I’m so excited to be back again with another chapter! Now, this is the last chapter in the “setting up the story” part of the fic, so bear with me. I’m glad to hear you’ve been enjoying Beck’s POV, but I’m definitely looking forward to finally visiting with Peter next chapter.
> 
> Now, I didn’t stay for the last end credit scene, so if you didn’t either, here’s what happened; it’s revealed that Nick Fury was actually a Skrull, a shape-shifting alien from Captain Marvel, for the entire movie. Fury was actually on vacation. Which… sort of works out in my favor? Because in this au, there’s no one to warn ‘Fury’ or stop Beck’s attack from being successful, so Fury would have to be taken out. But now it’s not the real Fury, he’s still out there. EXCEPT I’m changing it so he was doing important universe saving stuff with Captain Marvel instead of vacationing, because that’d be a bad look considering all the shit that goes down in his absence. Thank you, alien, for your sacrifice.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, **PLEASE COMMENT** if you do! - Aqua

Chapter Three

~*~

The attack goes off without a hitch.

The remixed elemental causes quite the commotion, dominating every news broadcast. The damage is extreme, casualties are respectable, and ‘Mysterio’s’ dramatic rescue is extremely convincing, if Beck does say so himself. And what a hero’s welcome he gets, afterwards- press conferences and adoring crowds and invitations to speak with world leaders and royalty. It’s sort of a blur, a surreal high he never wants to end.

But the most significant thing that happens is that Nick Fury is successfully eliminated during the battle. One well-placed missile from a drone, projected to look like a stray explosion caused by the elemental’s attack, is all it took.

It would’ve been the perfect cherry on top, if Nick Fury hadn’t turned out to be some alien in disguise.

Beck is still puzzling over it. The whole time he’d been trying to deceive Nick Fury, the bastard had been pulling an even bigger trick on them all. No explanation has come forth, not even from his right hand, Mariah Hill, and the real Fury has yet to make an appearance. So, Hill has taken control of the organization in Fury’s absence.

Beck is… wary, to say the least. The real Fury being out there wasn’t part of his plans. But Hill is less of a problem; she seems to have fully bought his act, so he’s content to leave it at that. He might get lucky, and find out the real Fury was killed long ago by the alien that took his place. But if Fury does turn up… well, there’s more than one way to stage an accident. And with Edith on high alert, he’ll know the second Fury’s face emerges.

So for now, Beck pushes it to the back of his mind. On to more fun things.

In the thirty-eight hours that have passed since Beck saw Peter last, the boy has been dead to the world, asleep inside his room as the tranquilizer works through his system. Beck hasn’t been at headquarters in a while, too busy with all his hero stuff- and boy, he could get used to that- but he set up a surveillance drone in Peter’s room and gave himself direct access to the feed, asking to be alerted if there was any change in activity.

That moment is now. Beck sits back in his chair and pulls up the drone’s security feed, the view of Peter’s room from the drone’s camera projected in front of him.

It’s not a very big room, and the floor, walls, and ceiling are all concrete. The only furnishing is the bed Peter’s laying on, a wooden four-poster with a white comforter. A door set in one of the walls leads to a tiny bathroom, also sparse and made of concrete. The drone is recording from its perch in one corner of the room, giving Beck a complete view.

The reason Edith alerted Beck is that Peter’s waking up. It’s not a pleasant awakening, from what Beck can see. Peter’s twitching, his limbs jerking about, head turning side to side. His face is pinched, and Beck can just barely make out the way Peter’s mouth is moving, forming silent words. He’s dreaming, then. And considering his life lately, it’s probably a nightmare.

Beck is debating whether to have pity on the kid and wake him up when Peter bolts upright in bed with a gasp. He’s alight with energy straight away, eyes wide and darting, chest heaving for breath. There’s almost a visible buzz to him, even over the projection, like every muscle in his body is trembling. God, there’s such _life_ in this boy. He’s like a dial locked at ten; he does nothing lightly, feels everything intensely. That’s the problem with too many people, they’re stagnant. Peter’s an endless blur, even when he’s still- you can tell his mind is flying miles ahead of everyone else.

Beck watches to see what Peter will do.

Peter seems to calm down, taking in his surroundings. Whatever nightmare he’s escaped, it isn’t this. There’s confusion at first, and then his gaze lands on the drone. In an instant, Peter’s on guard again. Tense, alert, face as hard as stone. He slips into it as quick and easy as breathing, and Beck thinks _this_ is the Spider-Man that Fury- or, the fake Fury- wanted so desperately to bring out in Peter.

Well, Beck beat him to it. Suck it, ‘Fury.’

Slowly, Peter slips out of the bed, feeling carefully with his feet before placing his full weight down. Just as slowly, he starts inspecting the closest wall, checking the door to outside and finding it locked. He’s moving strangely, hands outstretched, like he’s anticipating running into something at any moment- _ah._

Beck turns on the drone’s intercom system, broadcasting his voice into the room. “It’s not an illusion.”

Peter reacts the instant the drone’s speakers crackle to life; backflipping onto the wall and sticking there as he glances around in panic. Beck knows they’ve taken away his webshooters, so this is an inherent ability. It’s interesting to watch.

 _“Target’s heartrate is elevated,”_ Edith tells him.

Beck chuckles. “Take it easy, Peter, don’t hurt yourself. That’s solid concrete.”

Peter focuses in on the drone, recognition flashing across his face. Without looking away, he slowly lowers himself to the ground, every muscle tense. Keeping a careful eye on the drone, Peter continues feeling his way along the walls in silence, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

Though Beck knows it’s in vain, he doesn’t blame the kid for wanting to make sure. It’s smart, to rely on your own senses. “Alright, you don’t believe me. That’s fair,” he amends. “I’ll wait.”

It takes five minutes for Peter to have exhaustively checked every corner of the room and bathroom for solidity. And Beck means _every corner_ quite literally; Peter’s even crawled along the walls to check the ceiling. There’s an odd mixture of fear and relief in his expression- fear as he realizes he’s trapped, but relieved the illusions have ended. He settles on the bed again, cross-legged, looking up at the drone with trepidation. The black stealth suit is a harsh contrast against the white sheets.

“Where am I?” Peter asks finally, his voice a quiet rasp.

“My private headquarters,” Beck answers. “Quite secure, I assure you.”

“Why bring me here?” Peter’s voice is remarkably controlled, considering. There’s no venom behind his words- not yet. “What do you want?”

“You should consider yourself lucky I didn’t kill you.” Beck says it casually, like he’s talking about the weather. No point in getting all ‘evil villain’ on him- not yet. “You remember what happened, in the trainyard?”

Peter hesitates. A guarded look comes to his eyes, and he gives a slight nod. “Wh- how long has it been? Since then?”

Beck doesn’t think for a second that Peter hasn’t noticed he avoided the question. But Peter’s recognized that Beck won’t explain it, and instead of pressing the matter in vain, he’s filed that away and moved on to information gathering. It shows he knows how important it is to orient himself, to get all the facts before reacting. That’s a damn good skill to have, these days.

“About two days, altogether. You missed all the fun.” Even knowing Peter can’t see him, Beck can’t help but grin. “Edith, play the recording on Peter’s drone.”

_“Playing recording.”_

On Beck’s view, he can see the drone project an image onto the opposite wall. It’s one of the many news reports that were broadcasted live during the attack, fast forwarded to the part where things got interesting. On the projection, Beck sees footage of himself as Mysterio, saving the day. He’s pleased to see how realistic the projections still look from a video- cameras and human eyes process images very differently, which is something they’d taken into account when designing the technology.

Peter goes rigid at the sight, eyes widening. He quickly stands up, staring at the report in numb disbelief. 

Even as the news reporter is rejoicing in Mysterio’s victory, words travel across the bottom of the screen; EIGHTY-SEVEN DEATHS CONFIRMED BY CITY OF LONDON POLICE, HUNDREDS MORE INJURED.

It’s a rather poignant sight. This sixteen-year-old kid standing there in his tattered, bloody suit, watching the fallout of something he risked his life to try and prevent. The tension in his body is misleading; the metaphorical weight on his shoulders hasn’t slumped them in defeat, but it _is_ a defeat. He’s not made of the stuff that bends and warps under pressure, he’s made of the stuff that condenses, tighter and tighter until it cracks.

“Oh my god…” Peter breathes. “You… oh my _god,_ all those people, you…”

“It was necessary,” Beck says. Not an apology, because he won’t apologize for something he doesn’t actually regret. “If everything goes well all the time, people get complacent. It takes true loss and risk to make people understand how much they need heroes.”

Peter’s breath hitches. “You killed them.” Horror shouldn’t look so out of place on his features, considering what he’s been through, but it does. “You… killed all those people… but you wouldn’t kill me.”

It’s an accusation and a question all in one, and Beck can almost hear the thought circling in Peter’s mind right now; _why me?_

And here’s the strange impasse they’ve come to. Peter remembers what happened at the trainyard, which means he knows that Beck saw him in a state of complete breakdown. How vulnerable it must feel, having been seen like that by an enemy. But Beck has shown a weakness of his own; his inability to kill Peter.

Beck is suddenly very, very grateful that Peter can’t see his face right now.

“Well, none of those people were Spider-Man, were they?” It takes more effort than it should for Beck’s voice to be condescending, unbothered, and he quickly moves on. “Now, this drone will be monitoring you twenty-four-seven, and notifying us if you get up to anything suspicious. Remember, escaping will put a bullet in your friends’ heads.”

Peter doesn’t look away from the screen, but he flinches. That helps ease Beck’s discomfort. He’s still the one with the power here, and as long as he doesn’t let Peter forget it, it’ll be fine.

“There’s a change of clothes in the bathroom,” Beck continues. “Wash up, get changed, and someone will come look at that gash on your face.”

That gets Peter to look over with a start, blinking in confusion. His hand absently comes up to touch his face- and then quickly jerks away as his features twist in pain. And isn’t _that_ curious. It seems Peter’s forgotten about it with everything else going on. Either it looks much worse than it feels, or Peter is used to ignoring pain.

“Oh, and in case you get bored…” This is salt in the wound, Beck knows. “Edith, once this wraps up, play everything on this news channel from the past two days regarding the London incident.”

_“Command received.”_

Peter catches on fast, and hurt cuts across his face like another wound. Beck feels a thrum of satisfaction, like testing an old blade and finding it sharp as ever.

“You have fun, now.”

Beck closes the feed.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Next chapter should be up next Saturday. But **please don't forget to leave a comment,** even if it's just something short and simple! I have a lot of inspiration for this story, but it can only take me so far without feedback. I'm not gonna like, ransom a chapter for a certain amount of comments or anything, but I really do mean it when I say it's extremely hard to be motivated without feedback. Especially since I'm sort of putting off my Tangled fics to work on this one _sweats nervously._
> 
> So please, don't be shy! I appreciate each and every comment I get, and it's SUPER important to keep supporting this fic if you enjoy it. - Aqua


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** mention of past panic attacks/PTSD, past shooting, past death, survivor's guilt, blood, injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hi guys! I wanna say a HUGE thank you to everyone that commented on the last chapter, it really means the world to me and helps more than you know. I’m very excited to share this chapter with yall, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, I know we have yet to see how Uncle Ben died in the MCU, but it’s such a significant event that I really couldn’t write Peter without it. And I know the third Spider-Man movie might totally contradict what I come up with, but eh, that’s the occupational hazard we fanfic writers must face. - Aqua

Chapter Four

~*~

Peter stands there for a long time after Beck’s voice disappears.

The news report is still playing from the drone’s projection. The endless stream of words coils inside his head like a venomous snake, hissing around in his skull. Text and images flash before his burning eyes, too much too fast, destruction and chaos and candles lit next to wilting flowers. Cameras flashing, flashes of Beck’s grinning face, Beck waving to adoring crowds as he flies above them. Interviews with witnesses, recounting how Mysterio saved their lives. Interviews with mourners, about those who weren’t as lucky. Parents, children, siblings, partners. Memorial photos of the dead, teenagers no older than Peter among them.

Peter feels like he’s going to throw up. Or scream. Or cry. But he doesn’t do any of it, because the drone’s watching which could mean Beck’s watching, and Peter would rather get hit by a train than show that kind of vulnerability in front of Beck again.

The memory of it is raw, like his skin’s been peeled away, leaving the weakest inner parts of him exposed. He hasn’t had a panic attack like that in a long time. Over a year, now, in fact.

But Peter still vividly remembers the last time. It’d crept up on him sneakily, like those summer thunderstorms that happen in bright, clear skies. He’d been walking home with May, and down the street, out of view, a car had backfired. The echoes off the buildings twisted the sound into that of a gunshot, and before Peter could blink, he’d been yanked back to that night, to Ben. He’d frozen up as the memory overtook him, frozen up just like he had back then- the ringing in his ears and the acrid tang of gunpowder in the air, Ben motionless on the ground and the retreating back of the mugger- and he’d done _nothing._

The event had caused him to have a panic attack for no reason, in the middle of a sidewalk on a perfectly normal day. A really bad one, too, with the curling up and shaking and crying, that awful feeling of not getting enough breath, of feeling like he was dying.

May had been badly shaken by it, and had considered getting him into therapy. But his powers were still new then, and… difficult, and the last thing he’d wanted was anyone looking too closely at him. So he’d assured her he was fine, and that it was a one-time thing. And for the most part, it was. There were still bad days, of course. Sleepless nights. But he hadn’t broken down like that ever since.

Until Beck.

Peter hates it. He hates that feeling more than anything in the world, feeling out of control, feeling helpless.

It’s the cruelest instinct, he thinks, to freeze. Fighting isn’t always practical but it’s a testament to spirit, that when faced with danger your first instinct is to protect yourself or others. Fleeing is often knocked as cowardly, but it’s usually the smart thing to do, and it has the defense of self-preservation. At the very least, fleeing means you don’t have to watch.

If Peter hadn’t frozen all that time ago, maybe Ben would still be alive.

These are old thoughts, old wounds, now brought back to the surface by the circumstances he’s found himself in. If he had fought or fled at the trainyard instead of freezing, he wouldn’t have ended up on the tracks, and he wouldn’t be in this cell right now.

Peter hates Beck for that.

Every fight he’s ever lost before has been a battle of physical strength. Of powers far beyond his own, things he couldn’t possibly fight back against. Toomes had well and truly beaten him, and the only reason Peter had survived that fight was because of Toome’s short-sightedness (though now, after Beck, Peter can’t help but wonder if Toomes had the same reservations about killing him after all). Defeating Thanos in battle had never really been plausible, and nothing in the universe could combat the snap. Teenagers couldn’t fight titans.

But Beck didn’t beat him with physical force. The drones pack a punch, sure, but they weren’t the real weapon at play. Beck has turned Peter’s own mind and body against him, has knocked down every defense with brutal and indifferent efficiency. To the point that Peter had literally walked into his own defeat, of his own volition.

That’s far more terrifying than a man with a gun.

The current report playing is about the thirty or so people still in critical condition. Four more died in the hospital following the attack. Knowing this news is over a day old, Peter wonders how many more have passed since.

Then there’s a sting of pain on his face, and he realizes his eyes have blurred from staring so long and a tear has dripped into his gash. That’s enough to jolt him out of his daze. He stumbles back a step, rubbing carefully at his face. A wave of pain and exhaustion seems to settle over him all at once, and he swiftly walks into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

From his earlier inspection, Peter has gathered there isn’t any recording in the bathroom. This is good not only for regular privacy reasons, but because he now has a place away from Beck.

The bathroom is cold and cramped, the size of a generous closet and made of smooth concrete. The shower is just a metal head coming out of the wall and a drain on the floor, no separation from the toilet and sink. He finds himself wishing the sink had a mirror; he has no clue how bad the gash on his face is aside from the feel of it, and it’s not very encouraging.

He doesn’t even remember getting the wound. Logic tells him it probably happened when his mask came off, snagged on the metal rod, but so much of the fight is a hazy, panic-ridden blur that he can’t be sure. He’d noticed the pain when he’d woken up, but there’d been so much pain all over that he couldn’t tell where it was coming from.

Peter turns the shower on first, desperate to drown out the news reporter’s voice behind the door. There’s a change of clothes sitting folded on the toilet- gray joggers and a white T-shirt- so he relents to peeling off his stealth suit. The outfit’s taken a beating, for sure. More rips than he remembers getting, and in some places the fabric is stiff with blood. Absently, he wonders if anyone went back and grabbed his mask. Though he has no further need for the suit, it feels… incomplete without the mask.

The outfit gets balled up and thrown in a corner, the shoes thrown over after them. Peter stretches a hand out under the shower water, testing the temperature before easing into it.

The water on his face is an immediate, blinding pain. He throws a hand out against the wall to steady himself, biting back a cry. It _burns,_ like hot metal raking down his face, and he breathes raggedly through his nose as he adjusts to it. Now he’s _really_ concerned about the state of the wound; his accelerated healing really only helps speed along healing that’s already in progress. If it doesn’t get taken care of, he’s not sure his abilities will be any help.

It takes a few minutes for the pain to lessen, a few minutes of watching less and less blood run down the drain. The water is white noise in his ears, a dull roar pounding against his skull. But he can still hear the news reports, replaying in his head- _death toll climbs to ninety-one overnight- local hospitals overwhelmed and calling for blood donors- worldwide relief aid taking place- reconstruction efforts on the Millennium Bridge postponed after critical gas line explodes- candlelight vigil being held tomorrow night see our website for details-_

_Mysterio meets with survivors of the elemental attack- exclusive interview with Mysterio about elemental attack- new footage of Mysterio’s heroic actions during elemental attack- Mysterio releases statement about elemental attack- Mysterio meets with world leaders concerning elemental attack- Mysterio being heralded by many as ‘the next Iron Man’-_

A sudden flow of blood pools at Peter’s feet, and only then does he realize he’s punched the wall. The pain hits him, next, a splitting ache in his right knuckles that makes him gasp. He pulls his hand away and leaves behind cracked concrete. Blood streaks down his arm in needlepoint rivers, the thin lines reminiscent of spiderweb. He cradles his hand to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut. 

A sob finally works free from his throat, escaping through gritted teeth. All the hurt washes over him at once. It’s too much. More sobs come and they don’t stop, shaking his bruised and aching body, and it _hurts-_ the tears dripping into his wound hurt and the echo of his cries against the walls hurts and the tightness in his chest hurts- and he wants it to stop but it doesn’t.

A suffocating feeling overtakes him, the weight of everything that’s happened crushing his lungs. He failed, and now people are dead. Perfectly innocent people who were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and died for no reason. Their murderer is revered as a hero worldwide, and he uses Edith to weave his tangled web tighter and tighter until Peter can’t see a way out. Ned and MJ are in danger because of him, and there’s a very real possibility he’ll never see them again, never see May or Happy again, and he doesn’t know why.

That’s always the hardest part. The _why._ Why is Beck doing this? Why didn’t Beck kill him? Why did Peter have to get involved? Why wasn’t he good enough? Why did Mr. Stark have to die? Why is this happening? Why isn’t he good enough? _Why is this happening why am I not good enough why why why-_

_You need to stop carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders-_

_Peter, you're young. You don't understand how the world works-_

_You should not be here-_

_I told him, it’s clear to me that you were not ready for this-_

_-so I'll give you one chance. You ready?-_

_What if somebody had died tonight? Different story, right? 'Cause that's on you-_

_Stark chose you. He made you an Avenger. I need that. The world needs that-_

_You walk through those doors, and you forget any of this happened. And don't you ever, ever interfere with my business again, because if you do-_

_If you’re nothing without this suit then you shouldn’t have it-_

_But you are a kid-_

_I'll kill you, and everyone that you love-_

_Mr. Stark? Can you hear me? It’s Peter-_

_I know you want to save the world, but you're not ready yet-_

_Maybe Stark was wrong. Was he?-_

_-we won. Mr. Stark. We won, Mr. Stark. We won. You did it, sir. You did it. I’m sorry-_

_Everybody wants a happy ending, right? But it doesn't always roll that way-_

_Maybe if you were good enough, Tony would still be alive-_

Peter sinks to the ground. It’s too much. It’s almost a physical weight bearing down on him, that crushing feeling spreading throughout his body as his breathing becomes more and more labored. It’s like several tons of concrete crashing on top of him, burying him, and the sound of the water and the feel of it on his face is just like homecoming night.

He’d found the strength, then, to free himself from the rubble. There’s no more strength now. There’s nothing left in him at all, nothing but pain and grief and guilt. It hurts and it’s too much, _why is this happening, I want it to stop, why am I not good enough, please make it stop, please-_

“Please,” Peter gasps out. His voice is a quiet, fragile thing in his ears, almost lost in the spray of water and the force of his sobs. “Please… h- help… someone help, _please…”_

But he knows there’s no one to help him here. He thinks maybe that’s why he’s saying it so softly, because this way it doesn’t count. It’s not a surrender if no one hears it.

Peter repeats his plea to himself until the water runs cold.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Hope you enjoyed, please **don't forget to comment** if you did, and I'll see you all next Saturday! - Aqua


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** needles, injury, probably inaccurate medical practices, minor language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hi readers, hope yall are doin well! Last chapter didn’t get quite the response I was hoping for, but that’s okay, I just hope it wasn’t a let down for Peter’s first POV? Anyways I’ve got some more Peter for ya and a minor OC, I’ll be using a couple OCs throughout this fic to help carry the story along but they won’t ever be the main focus, so no worries there!
> 
> And aw jeeze, this chapter got long. Almost one thousand words over my average! But I guess that’s better than being too short. Hope you enjoy, **please don’t forget to leave a comment** if you do! - Aqua

Chapter Five

~*~

Peter grips the sink, forcing deep breaths through his nose.

His hair is still damp from the shower, clinging to his forehead and hanging in his eyes. The new clothes are… conflicting. On one hand, they’re just a white T-shirt and a pair of gray joggers, socks but no shoes. It’s casual wear, weekend clothes. But on the other hand, it feels strange to be wearing them in this context. He feels a lot more exposed like this, and longs for the familiarity of a suit.

But he’s determined not to let his unease show. Not where Beck can see it. So Peter takes a few more deep breaths, his left hand curling tighter around the porcelain. His right hand is held close to his body, still aching from its injury.

A deeper ache has settled inside of him, set in his bones. It’s the realization that he is well and truly defeated, and is entirely at the mercy of an enemy whose intentions are… less than clear. That his failure resulted in deaths of innocent people, and there’s no going back and undoing it, not this time. And that he’s more lost and alone than he’s ever been in his entire life.

But he’s not giving up yet. As hopeless as the situation is, something inside of him recoils at the thought of just rolling over and accepting this. He might not have a plan, or even be in the right capacity to start _thinking_ of one, but that doesn’t mean he has to fall to pieces. The least he can do is start recapturing the self-control that was stolen from him at the trainyard.

Peter runs his hand through his hair, once again wishing he had a mirror. He probably looks like a mess right now, the pain from his wounds leaving him shaky, and he’s never been the best at concealing his emotions. Maybe if he’d been better at it, MJ wouldn’t have found out he was Spider-Man, and she wouldn’t be in danger right now-

Stop, not the time. Don’t think about it.

Peter takes a final steadying breath before opening the door, stepping back into his cell.

He freezes.

There’s an unfamiliar man sitting on the bed, a large rolling case parked in front of him. He’s an older black man, somewhere in his fifties- gray creeps up along the edge of his short, curly hair. His attire is casual; a button-up shirt and jeans. He’s an entirely out of place figure in this nightmare of Peter’s. Like someone you’d see reading a newspaper on the bus, not sitting inside your secret prison cell.

The man looks over at Peter, breaking into an easy smile. “Ah, there you are.”

Peter stares at him. “Who are you?”

The man doesn’t seem surprised by the question. “Name’s Virgil Schultz, you can call me Virgil. I’m the medic here, came to take a look at your injuries.” He pats the bed. “Have a seat.”

“Oh.” Peter remembers Beck saying something about sending someone. Stiffly, he walks over and sits down on the bed, fighting the urge to bounce his leg. The news is still playing over the drone projection, some story about the Millennium Bridge reconstruction.

If Peter tunes it out enough, it might be harmless background noise. Something less personal. But tuning things out is a lot harder with his heightened senses. And it’s even harder to ignore something that’s his fault.

Virgil quirks an eyebrow at him. “Something up with your hand?” he asks as he opens the top of the case.

Peter glances down, abruptly realizing he’s still cradling his hand to his chest. “Oh um, I…”

“Can I see?” Virgil asks.

Wordlessly, Peter holds his hand out. No point in hiding it, he supposes.

Virgil carefully takes Peter’s hand. Peter is surprised by the flicker of relief he feels, when Virgil’s hand is solid against his. Consciously, he hadn’t even considered that Virgil might be an illusion- it wouldn’t really make practical sense in this context- but apparently, his subconscious is erring on the side of caution. Peter can’t say he blames it.

Virgil’s brows knit together as he studies Peter’s hand. “Okay, that’s new,” he says, frowning. “What happened?”

“I punched the shower.”

Virgil blinks at him. Peter winces.

“Sorry, I mean I uh, I punched the wall in… the shower,” he clarifies awkwardly. “There’s a… it’s a little cracked now. You guys might want to fill it up, so it doesn’t… so it doesn’t mold, or… anything.”

Virgil’s expression is hard to read. “Oh. Well… thanks for letting me know,” he says eventually, returning his focus to Peter’s hand. “Without taking X-rays it’s hard to say for certain, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got at least a fracture here. We’ll cold treat it and get a splint on, should take care of itself in a few weeks.” He glances up with a grin. “Maybe faster, you’ve got that spider healing thing, right?”

Peter is thrown by the friendliness of his smile. “Uh, yeah.”

Virgil digs around in his case for a moment before pulling out a small white rectangular bag. He cracks it in half and hands it to Peter. “Hold that over your hand while I look at your face, okay?”

The bag is rapidly growing colder in Peter’s hand; one of those instant ice packs. He lightly settles it over his knuckles, twitching at the sensation. The pressure hurts, but is quickly soothed by the cold, and he lets out a slow exhale, eyes drifting shut for a moment.

Then he senses movement and tenses up again, eyes snapping open. Virgil goes still, his outstretched hand hovering by Peter’s face.

“You good?” he asks uncertainly.

Peter swallows and forces himself to relax, giving a slight nod.

“Alright.” Virgil talks a bit softer. “I’m just gonna take a quick look, shine a light into it so I can see how deep it is. I’m gonna touch it just a little bit so I can assess the inflammation better, it might hurt a little.”

Peter doesn’t think it could possibly hurt more than that shower did. “Okay.”

In his other hand, Virgil holds up a small flashlight and shines it into the wound. Peter squints against the light instinctively, lowering his gaze to the floor.

Virgil makes a noncommittal noise. “Well, the exposed tissue has already healed over inside. It’s just a surface layer, though, could easily reopen if provoked.” He sets the flashlight down and gently prods at Peter’s face. His touch is feather-light, but his calloused fingers scratch uncomfortably. “I don’t like the odds of it closing up on its own. I’d like to put some sutures in.”

Peter’s throat tightens at the thought. “Okay.”

“We’ll take care of your hand first,” Virgil says, pulling away.

Peter feels better with the man’s hands away from his face, but he doesn’t look up. “Okay.”

He remains silent as Virgil cleans the split skin of his knuckles and fits a splint on. It’s a black Velcro cast that covers the length of his fingers, leaving only his thumb free. It’s short enough on the end that his wrist is still mobile, but his hand is held in a ‘mitten’ shape. Peter’s glad he’s become more or less ambidextrous, because if he wasn’t, this would be a lot harder to handle.

“Alright, now for the stitches.” Virgil gets off the bed and crouches beside his case. “Go ahead and lay down, I’ll get the anesthetic ready.”

Peter doesn’t move. “You mean like, going unconscious?” he asks, his heart starting to pound.

“Nah, just numbing.” Virgil pulls a pair of latex gloves from the case and slips them on. “I’ll be giving you a little shot that will dull the pain receptors in your face so you won’t feel the stitches as much.”

“Oh, okay.” Peter pushes down his unease and carefully lays back. Anxiety twists a knot in his stomach as he waits for Virgil to set everything out.

It’s just stitches, he tells himself. Shouldn’t hurt nearly as much as the wound itself. But it’s hard to remember that when the man putting them in works for Beck. When everything in Peter’s life lately has been a nightmare.

When Virgil leans over him, syringe in hand, Peter fights the urge to close his eyes. Even when the needle slips into his cheek. In such a vulnerable position, he doesn’t want to be caught unaware. It takes some effort to suppress a surge of panic when he feels the drug start to take effect. All it does is make the left side of his face numb, but Peter thinks about the needle in his shoulder that put him to sleep for over a day and curls his good hand into a fist, making sure he still has control.

While waiting for the drug to reach its full effect, Virgil prepares the suture. The curved blade looks so small between his fingers, the thin thread glinting in the light like spiderweb, but Peter still tenses when Virgil begins stitching. He doesn’t relax, even though he can barely feel it; there’s just the slightest pinch where Virgil touches.

It’s over in just a few minutes, Virgil snipping the thread and tying it off. “There we go,” he says, straightening up. “You’re all set.”

Peter sits up slowly, carefully inspecting the stitches with his fingertips. It’s so strange to feel the sensation in his fingers but not his face, as if he was touching someone else entirely.

“The meds should wear off within the next hour or so,” Virgil says, as if guessing Peter’s thoughts.

“Thank you.” The words are mumbled, the left side of Peter’s face too stiff to properly move. His vision is partly obscured by the drooping of his left eyelid. It feels heavy, dragging down his brow.

“Don’t mention it.” Virgil waves him off. “Do you have any more injuries?” 

Peter shakes his head. “Just cuts and bruises.”

Those Peter knows will be gone within the next day, and they pale in comparison to his hand and face. But the greatest pain is the one that can’t be fixed with stitches. It’s that crushing feeling that has yet to entirely fade from his lungs, the one that beats against his skull with every new word from the news reports. 

Virgil studies him for a second. “Want some pain killers, to take the edge off?” he asks eventually.

The smart thing would be to accept the offer. There’s no point in Peter being in pain, and a clear mind is a great asset. But the thought of accepting any kind of drug from Beck’s people, even a damn Aspirin, makes his skin crawl.

“No thank you,” Peter says.

Virgil gives him a dubious look. “You sure? Looks pretty painful.”

“It’s fine,” Peter insists, his shoulders tensing.

“Alright.” Virgil finally drops it and starts packing up the supplies. “So, how’d you even get that one?” he asks conversationally. “I didn’t see the fight.”

Peter doesn’t understand at first. “See… the fight?” he repeats uncertainly.

Virgil nods. “Yeah, all the drones and Beck’s suit are constantly recording, so usually we review the footage of everything. Make a night of it, you know?” A curious look comes into his eyes. “But he didn’t share the recording of your fight at the trainyard. Said it’s off limits.”

It takes Peter a moment to fully grasp what Virgil is saying. Beck has decided to keep their fight, and everything that happened during it, private. From his own people. Peter… isn’t sure what to make of that. The simple answer would be that Beck doesn’t want his people seeing the way he’d faltered, when he’d decided to save Peter’s life. But nothing about Beck has been simple.

Peter has a feeling it’s more to do with what that footage would show about _him._ Whatever Beck’s reason, he’s ensured that no one else sees how Peter broke that day. Peter is appalled to find that he feels grateful- it was Beck’s fault in the first place, but at least the whole base isn’t talking about it. It’s hard enough knowing Beck saw him like that.

Peter licks his lips, glancing away. “It was a, uh… a metal rod or something. Construction stuff.” His voice comes out in a detached monotone. “It was an accident, I didn’t… I didn’t see it.”

“Ouch.” Virgil whistles sympathetically. “Well, be careful with it, alright? You’re fine to shower with it; if soap gets in, it’ll sting, but it won’t hurt anything. You can take your splint off to shower, too, just keep your hand as still as possible and put it right back on after.”

Peter manages a slight nod. “Okay.”

Virgil extends a handle from the top of the case and starts rolling it towards the door, the sound rumbling through the floor. “By the way,” he says, “we’re gonna order from this sub shop down the way tonight. What do you want?”

Peter jerks his head up. Did he hear that correctly? “What… do I want?”

“For dinner? From the sub shop?” Virgil prompts. “Man, maybe I should double check for a concussion.”

The meaning finally clicks. “I… you’re asking me for my order?” Peter asks.

Virgil snorts, nonplussed. “Well, yeah. It’ll be dinner time in a little bit, and we’re getting food anyways, so we’ll just get yours there.” He puts his hands on his hips. “What, you don’t like subs?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, I just- I don’t understand.” Peter runs his hand through his hair, fighting back a disbelieving laugh. It’d probably sound borderline hysterical at this point, and pull at his stitches. “You… you’re all criminals. And I’m a prisoner. And you’re being nice to me? You- you’re talking to me like a person and you took care of my injuries and now this?”

Virgil sighs. “Look, son, I’ll be honest with you. None of us are really sure why Beck decided not to kill you. But he’s our leader. We’re only where we are now because of him, and he’s never led us astray before.” He spreads his hands. “So, if Beck wants to keep you? Fine by me. And there’s no need to be a jackass about it so yeah, I’ll talk to you politely, and treat your injuries, and ask for your dinner order. There’s no reason not to.”

Peter stares back at Virgil. He can’t really argue with that, because the only argument he has is _‘but you’re the bad guys’_ and he has enough self-awareness to recognize how childish that would sound. 

“… what does the sub shop have?” Peter asks finally, at a loss for anything else to say.

“It’s a sub shop,” Virgil deadpans, though an amused glint shines in his eye. “Ask for a sub, they’ll make it.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Peter rubs the back of his neck. “Um, roast beef and swiss?”

“Alright.” Virgil nods and turns to the door.

“Wait!” Peter’s voice comes out a little too loud, a little too fast, and he cringes. Way to sound desperate. “Uh, sorry, just… how did you end up working for Beck? Did he just like, put an ad out for a doctor, or…?”

Try as he might, Peter just can’t imagine Virgil leading a life of evil. He knows that all criminals aren’t stereotypical mustache-twirling baddies, frothing about their plots to take over the world, but Virgil seems like a decent man. A normal man. There’s none of that unstableness Peter’s detected in Beck, no greedy, ruthless nature. So he has to wonder how someone like Virgil ended up here.

Virgil raises his eyebrows, holding a finger up. “First, I’m not a doctor. EMT for twenty-five years. And Beck?” He shrugs. “He paid my son’s bail.”

Peter blinks. “Your son?”

“Herman.” What starts out as a fond smile curves into an amused grin, like Virgil just thought of something funny. “Though, I guess _you’d_ know him as the Shocker, Spider-Man.”

Peter’s stomach drops.

He remembers Herman Schultz, one of the men who worked for Toomes. He remembers the flash of light and the burn of electric current and _‘he gave you a choice, you chose wrong.’_ Schultz had jumped Peter outside the school, trying to stop him from following Toomes. But after getting webbed to a bus with Ned’s help, after the failed plane heist and the crash and Toomes being caught, Schultz had been arrested along with his boss. That’s the last Peter has heard of him.

Until now.

Peter swallows hard, pushing down the itch in his brain that’s screaming _warning_ at him, because Virgil isn’t a threat. And that’s more confusing than anything else, because Virgil is working for an evil mastermind and Peter got his son arrested- rightfully so- yet he’s not a threat. Peter doesn’t understand it, not in this world where petty grudges lead to mass murder, and men will kill for their family’s security. But he can’t even begin to form a question for Virgil, and he’s not sure he’d understand the answer anyways.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says, because there’s nothing else he can say.

Virgil throws back his head and laughs. “Beck’s right, you _do_ say that a lot.”

Before Peter can reply, Virgil leaves, the door locking behind him.

~*~


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** Language, death mention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hi readers! I’m happy to be back for another chapter, but again, PLEASE don’t be shy about sharing your thoughts with me! The Marvel A03 tags move fast, my fic is usually pushed to the second page of results within the hour, so the chances of new people finding this fic aren’t great and that means it’s very important to hear from the readers I do have!
> 
> That said, we’re back with Beck this chapter so I hope you enjoy! - Aqua

Chapter Six

~*~

It’s good to be back.

Beck greets his friends with smiles and nods as he makes his way through the headquarters. He’s glad to finally let himself relax and fully drop the Mysterio act. There haven’t been many moments completely to himself since London. And that costume _really_ doesn’t breathe well.

Hill offered him a place at the old Avengers compound, and Beck had to play the ‘tortured loner’ role to decline and take off without sounding suspicious. He has his whole team to think of, not to mention Peter. And besides, what’s the fun of being a superhero if you’re living in a government sanctioned compound with constant surveillance? Stark had the right idea, living it up in his own private mansion.

The event has started Beck thinking about a more permanent settlement. This temporary headquarters isn’t too shabby, but he didn’t really want to settle in Europe. Staging his attacks in America will get him more attention; American news always does. And he can be a bit pickier about exactly where he sets up shop. This base is a bit too public for his liking. Their security is tight, but all it takes it one accidental glimpse through a door as it opens, one troublesome teenager sneaking around where they aren’t supposed to, and the whole thing is blown.

He might take some notes from the Avengers and get himself a nice, secluded compound. Sturdy, well protected, with plenty of room to breathe. And he can take notes from Wakanda and set up a perimeter of drones to hide the entire thing under cloaking technology. No shame in stealing from the best.

But he doesn’t have to think about that now. He’ll have plenty of time once the buzz from the London attack ebbs- it’s already dropped down the list of trending topics, so it won’t be long. It’s been a busy three days, but the world moves on quickly. He’ll have to get his next planned attacks rolling to stay relevant, just a few little disturbances to put him in back the headlines.

At least Beck has the time for this; checking in with his favorite web-crawling do-gooder. He’s tapped into the video feed a few times since the last time, but he hasn’t actually spoken to Peter in person since making that call to his friends. And seeing as he’s due for a check-in with everyone at home base anyways, it’s a good time as any.

Beck pauses just outside the door to Peter’s room, briefly pulling up the video feed. Peter’s sitting on his bed, finishing a sandwich while trying to look like he’s not watching the news report playing on the wall. Beck closes the projection with a grin and lets himself into the room.

Peter jumps at his entrance, and the initial surprise on his face quickly turns to alarm as he realizes who it is. The sandwich falls from Peter’s hand onto the bed as he scrambles away from Beck, his back hitting the wall.

The wound on Peter’s face looks a lot worse up close. Angry red skin borders the tiny stitches along his cheek, making it look even more out of place than the bare gash itself. His right hand in its splint is held close to his chest, his left hand pressed back against the wall.

Beck chuckles. “Aw, what’s the matter, not happy to see me?”

Peter doesn’t reply, instead continuing to study him with that distrustful, wide-eyed gaze.

Beck puts his hands on his hips. “Oh, what, what’s that look for? I’m just here to talk.”

Peter hesitates. “I don’t know if you’re real,” he says, wary.

“You’re still on this?” Beck asks incredulously. “What reason would I have for appearing as an illusion now instead of just talking to you through Herod’s intercom?”

Instead of an answer, Peter blinks at him. “Herod?”

Ah shit, right. “Oh, that’s what I’ve named your drone,” Beck explains, waving a hand. He grins. “It’s a biblical reference, get it? Peter and Herod?”

Peter’s face is blank. “We don’t really, uh… go to church so, yknow…”

Beck raises his eyebrows. “Really? You’ve never heard of- forget it.” He shakes his head, mildly disappointed. “Now, even if I _was_ an illusion, what would be the harm? Clearly I’m not going to kill you, otherwise I would’ve done it already. You’re a prisoner in a secure cell. Why would I use an illusion to attack you now?”

Peter’s expression grows guarded, and it’s immediately clear to Beck that an answer has come to Peter’s mind and he doesn’t like it. “You tell me,” he snaps.

“Ooh, getting feisty, are we?” Beck taunts, unfazed by his tone. “It’s amazing what a hot shower, a change of clothes, a good meal, and medical treatment will do for the spirit, huh?”

“Stop it,” Peter says, his voice low. His shoulders hunch by his ears defensively. “I just… need to know if you’re real.”

It comes out a lot more wobbly than Peter probably intended. Beck puts his hands on his hips, nonplussed. He genuinely didn’t expect the illusions to have such a lasting effect on the kid’s head- but in hindsight, Beck shouldn’t be surprised. He’s won Peter’s trust only to tear it all down, throw him into a nightmare, almost kill him, and then take him captive. Even if there wouldn’t be any danger involved this time, Peter doesn’t want to be tricked again. It’s only natural.

“Well, I already know you won’t take my word for it,” Beck says eventually. He stretches an arm out, almost as if for a handshake. “Go ahead, see for yourself.”

Peter gives a start, like he hadn’t expected Beck to go along with it. Then he’s wary again, eyes narrowing in on Beck’s hand like it might shoot lasers at him. After a moment, he eases off the bed and onto his feet, moving in that same slow, tense way from earlier. He approaches Beck by walking sideways- protecting his most vital organs, smart- and the bend in his knees puts him closer to the ground, ready to spring away in an instant.

Beck is abruptly reminded of his attempts to befriend alley cats outside his childhood home. Sitting still with an outstretched hand as they slunk towards him, those slitted eyes roving over him as their ears twitched curiously. They got close enough to sniff his hand before darting away, tails bristling, and the process would repeat. It was a miraculous lesson in patience for ten-year-old Beck, and his efforts were rewarded within just a few weeks; the cats would come when he called.

Amusement quirks at Beck’s lips with the memory, but he doesn’t let himself smile. Peter might take it as a warning.

Finally, Peter stops before him. When his hand darts out to make contact, he doesn’t take Beck’s offered hand. Instead, he ends up sort of poking the back of Beck’s hand, just for an instant. Another calculated move, Beck suspects, because if Peter had taken his hand, it would’ve given Beck the opportunity to grab him.

As soon as Peter’s hand falls away, he retreats to the bed. Like he can’t get away from Beck fast enough. His expression is hard to read- not from any effort on Peter’s part to conceal his emotions, but because they’re so conflicted. He settles cross-legged again, meeting Beck’s gaze evenly.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

“Just checking up on you,” Beck says, folding his arms. “I heard about your hand. Feel like telling me why you’re punching walls?”

Peter bristles, his hand curling to his chest. “No.”

Beck hums noncommittally. “Well, I know you _definitely_ weren’t trying to escape, because doing so would kill your best friends in the whole wide world, and we don’t want _that.”_ His smile is a bit too wide to be friendly. “So what gives?”

Peter glares at him, but Beck can tell the reminder has its desired effect from the way Peter sets his jaw. “I got angry,” he says finally, glancing away. “Lost my temper.”

Beck knows it’s a lie right away. Peter Parker is many things, but he’s not the kind of person who is prone to anger issues. Beck’s research told him as much. So he reads between the lines, searching for the half-truth. Maybe Peter did lose control of himself, but it wasn’t out of anger. That’d be something he’d want to keep to himself, especially after the trainyard.

“Alright.” Beck doesn’t press it, filing the info away for later. “Next time, count to ten.”

Peter ignores the comment. “You can’t keep this up forever, you know.”

Beck tilts his head. “Keep what up?”

“This… fake hero thing.” Peter’s voice is layered with thinly-veiled disgust. His eyes trace the projection of the news report still playing on the wall. “What are you going to do when the real villains show up? The real monsters? You keep establishing yourself, and it’ll only be a matter of time before someone challenges you.” He frowns, thoughtful. “It’s like, you’re trying to make a game, right, but there are already real players out there. And they play by their rules.”

Beck nods slowly. “Interesting point,” he says, humoring Peter. “What would you suggest I do?”

Peter studies him for a moment, hesitating. “Quit while you’re ahead,” he offers finally. “If you stop now, you could get away. Disappear before anyone knows what’s happening. But if you wait for someone or something else to expose you, your chances are a lot worse.”

It’d be a good answer, if Beck was a man of less nerve. He’s come too far to have doubt now. “I’m sorry, what about this situation has made you think you can try to bargain with me?” he asks.

Surprise flares in Peter’s eyes, and he holds his hands up. “I’m just saying, this isn’t sustainable.” 

“Maybe you weren’t paying attention.” Beck lets the slightest edge come into his voice, feeling satisfied by the way Peter tenses. “I have Edith now- thanks, by the way- and Edith has access to Stark’s entire satellite surveillance network. If it’s online, Edith has access to it, and that means any potential threats can be identified and neutralized before they happen.”

“You…” Peter knits his brows together. “Wait, you’re talking about using Edith to-”

Beck interrupts with a question. “Were you old enough to pay attention to the whole SHIELD shitstorm? With Hydra and the helicarriers and Project Insight?” At Peter’s hesitant nod, Beck continues, “they might’ve been onto something. But while they used an algorithm to predict who could potentially cause problems, I’ll be using Edith to locate them and take them out before any damage can be done.”

Horror dawns on Peter’s face. “This is… you’re going to use a worldwide surveillance network to eliminate threats, and then create fake ones to fight? That’s-”

“Changing the game, I know,” Beck amends. “If we’re going with your little metaphor.”

Peter stares at him. “You’re killing all the players before they enter the stage, and replacing them with CPUs.”

Beck chuckles. “Sure, that’s a way to put it. Might be cheating, but at least I know I’ll always win.”

“But not without cost,” Peter says, his words slow with realization. “You’re… going to keep killing people for it, aren’t you? Innocent people?”

“Collateral damage,” Beck agrees. “It’s necessary.”

Sure, if Beck were more of a humanitarian, he could just use Edith to keep the world safe and not even bother with all the theatrics. But he’s got a couple reasons for going about it this way. One; many people would disagree with persecution coming _before_ the crime, and his actions have a much better chance of going unnoticed if he gives the world something else to look at.

And two; Beck is tired of working in the shadows. 

Peter’s expression hardens. “It won’t work forever,” he says quietly. “Someone or something is gonna get through the cracks, and- and what do you do then? What if you get attacked in public, no illusions prepared, with the whole world watching?”

Despite himself, Beck feels a small sliver of unease trickle down his spine. As good as Edith is, he’s not the only person who can play things close to the vest. If someone was cautious and clever enough, they could hide their intentions until it was too late. Plus, people and plans could change in an instant. Accidents happen. In this world where mild-mannered scientists could Hulk out at the drop of a hat, it’s nearly impossible to be certain you’re truly safe, at any moment.

Maybe Beck hasn’t prepared for everything as thoroughly as he believed.

But he doesn’t let his newfound doubt show. “How about _I_ worry about the hero stuff, and _you_ worry about keeping your friends alive by being a good little spider, alright?”

Peter’s expression clouds with disappointment and bitterness, and that alone tells Beck that Peter was really hoping to get through to him. Hoping to convince him to abandon this path. But Beck has a perspective Peter can never understand; living in a world where half the population vanished without a trace, and the other half was abandoned by the heroes sworn to protect them. Or, at the very least, avenge them. He remembers the chaos in the days immediately following, his own fear after watching the world crumble around him.

Since the snap was reversed, Beck has often wondered if it would have been easier, had he been blipped. But he’s glad to have experienced those five years. It’s made him stronger, and only solidified his resolve. There’s not enough control in the world, he realized, and the control they have is in incapable hands. It won’t be willingly handed over to the right ones, it has to be taken.

So while some people fell into despair, Beck got to work putting together his own team and fine-tuning the projection technology that would one day power his illusions. Stark’s development of Edith was the last piece to the puzzle, and everything from there fell into place.

Peter is the one outlier Beck didn’t account for, but he’s good at improvising.

“I’ll let you get back to your show now,” Beck says with a grin, nodding at the ongoing news reports. “The lights are gonna go off in a couple hours, and someone will be in to patch up the shower tomorrow morning. You have a good night-”

“Wait.”

Peter’s voice makes Beck pause, his hand on the doorknob. Looking over his shoulder, he sees Peter staring hard at the floor, his good hand clenched into a fist as if he’s steeling himself.

“The guy who was in here earlier, Virgil…” Peter takes a deep breath and meets Beck’s eyes. “He said that you didn’t show any of them what happened at the trainyard.” 

Oh, interesting. “That’s correct,” Beck admits.

Peter actually looks a little upset at that. “Why?”

It’s surprising that something like this would matter to Peter, but Beck takes it in stride. “There are some things that I keep to myself,” he says mildly.

Sure, he’s not keen for the others to see the way he hesitated. He’d much rather them believe that his decision to spare Peter was well-thought out instead of the result of a… sudden weakness. But it’s more than that, it’s not wanting the others to see what Peter went through.

And not out of any concern for the kid’s privacy, no. There’s something appealing about keeping that knowledge to himself. About being the only one to have seen Peter like that- aside from William, who only heard it through the mic. It gives Beck a sort of power, he thinks. The power of knowing just how far he successfully pushed Peter, how effective his methods had been.

He’s earned it, in a manner of speaking. Earned the right to see Peter fall apart. No one else has.

Despite saying none of this out loud, the look Peter’s giving Beck makes him think the kid has worked it out on his own. Sharp as a whip, this one. The clash of emotion across Peter’s face is so startling, it’s like he’s inventing new ways to look horrified and betrayed.

Beck rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’ll be our little secret, yeah? Now finish your dinner and get some sleep tonight. I’ll be checking in soon.”

Peter looks like he’s going to say something but cuts himself off, glancing away. 

Beck takes that as his cue to leave, locking the door behind him. Once outside, he quickly pulls up Herod’s projection again, just to double check.

Peter’s sitting right where Beck left him, absently scratching at his wrist splint. As Beck watches, he gives a barely noticeable sigh and picks up the sub sandwich he’d dropped. He looks like he’s fully lost his appetite, but he starts eating anyways, and he pointedly avoids looking at Herod or the projection of the news reports.

Beck closes the feed again, nodding to himself. Looks like everything’s settling down for now. All things considered, Peter’s taken this pretty well. He’s been logical enough to not try and escape, and been on his best behavior where Herod can see him.

But even the strongest wills break given time, and Beck can’t wait to watch.

~*~


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** Minor language, nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hello again readers! I’m glad to see you’re still enjoying this, PLEASE don’t forget to leave a comment to let me know! School’s right around the corner so I’ll definitely appreciate the extra motivation to keep updates once a week.
> 
> Also, side note, there is some action planned ahead, but I do need to take my time developing the characters and relationships here, so I apologize if things ever feel a bit slow! If you’re a regular reader of mine, you’re well familiar with my love for slow burn XD Some exciting stuff ahead, with even more planned. Hope you enjoy! - Aqua

Chapter Seven

~*~

Peter sits hunched on the bed, picking idly at the cast on his hand.

It’s been one week since the London attack. Peter knows this from the news reports. They’ve caught up to current time, now (the final death toll was one-hundred and three) so the reports are coming less frequently. He’ll go hours with the room being dead silent, then suddenly the drone will roar to life and project a three-minute news segment on his wall before blinking out again.

People are moving on, it looks like. After all, the ‘villain’ was taken down, no loose ends left, and overall it was considered a win despite the casualties and destruction. The world has other things to look at now, Peter imagines. That’s natural. That’s human.

He would’ve expected himself to feel relieved that people are moving on. That the news reports have stopped. They were hard to watch, hard to hear. But the absence of any sound, movement, or color in his cell is stark, and hits him much harder than he would have anticipated.

How twisted, that he’s been made to wish for bad news if only to take the edge off his isolation.

In the past few days, Peter has spent most of his waking moments either trying to sleep, or pacing. He doesn’t get much sleep at night because the cell is pitch black and that sets him on edge. The scattered naps he manages to take during the day don’t feel like enough to shake the weariness from his bones.

Despite his tiredness, he paces. He _has_ to, to have something to do. The cell is a perfect square, he’s found. Five steps from wall to wall in any direction. He’s all but memorized the sound his own feet make on the concrete floor, muffled by his socks but feeling much louder than they ought to in the otherwise silent cell. It beats a rhythm in his skull when he paces, and he’s grateful it gives him something to focus on.

He feels twitchier than normal- if there’s such thing as a normal level of twitchiness. When Virgil came in yesterday to check on his stitches, Peter jumped so bad he hit the ceiling. Literally. His head is still sore.

Aside from taking care of the bump on his head, Virgil informed Peter that the reason he hadn’t heard anything from Beck recently is because Beck out travelling under a false identity. Something about conducting some shady business he wants to keep under the radar.

Fine by Peter. The less he has to listen to that guy, the better.

Except now he has no one to ask whether MJ and Ned are doing okay. Whether May is doing okay. Or how Queens is doing without him there to protect it; his school, his neighborhood. It _kills_ him, not knowing. And if Beck was here maybe Peter could ask for some time out to stretch his legs, and figure out if the itch beneath the skin of his wrist is because of his cast or because he’s never gone this long without using his web shooters.

The people who bring him his meals don’t answer his questions, and even if Virgil would tell him, he doesn’t know. So, Peter’s left wondering and pacing, and almost wishing Beck would return already, which feels _terrible_ because he _hates_ Beck but it’s his only way to get answers.

Peter knows he’s in dangerous waters. It’s as clear a trap around him as concrete walls; isolating him in every sense of the word, making him solely reliant on Beck… it’s deliberate. Everything about Beck lends to the notion. He’s the kind of person who’s had his moves planned out before even starting the game. But the scariest thing is that Peter has no idea what end Beck is playing at.

It still haunts him, not knowing why Beck spared his life. On the surface, Beck’s motives are clear; he wants to be a famous hero, to gain power and notoriety. He’s already well on his way, and he doesn’t need Peter to do it.

Even using him to threaten Ned and MJ isn’t strictly necessary. Beck could easily just kill them, as much as Peter shudders at the thought. The fact that he hasn’t, and instead went through all this effort of keeping Peter locked up… it means Peter doesn’t truly know his enemy, and that’s a bad place to be.

Seeing as how he can’t fight, and he can’t escape, his only option is to play along. That’s scary, too. Peter knows what Stockholm syndrome is. He knows it can start setting in as early as three days in, and he’s been here almost a week.

And every second he’s here means that there’s no one stopping Beck’s scheming, and more and more innocent people are put a risk. Beck’s already caused so much damage, but Peter can almost sense an invisible clock hanging over him, counting down the days until enough damage is done that he can’t come back from it.

Peter thinks back to everything he’s heard about Tony’s kidnapping in Afghanistan, so many years ago. In all the time Peter knew him, he never worked up the courage to ask about that time, to ask how he managed not to lose hope during his long captivity.

Peter’s really regretting that now.

The drone roars to life, and Peter gives a violent start, his heart pounding and tremors running through his body. A projection flickers onto the wall, and the voice of the news reporter he’s gotten so familiar with starts to talk. Another report on the London cleanup. More talk of destruction, all the dead and misplaced people.

Peter tips his head back against the wall and blinks away tears.

~*~

Beck wakes up to Edith’s voice.

_“Herod has reported that target is experiencing extreme distress.”_

Blinking awake, Beck sits up and fumbles for the glasses on his bedside table. The hotel room is pitch black, the only light coming from the digital clock that he accidentally smacks off the table. It clatters to the floor, where the time ‘2:54 AM’ beams up at him.

Beck manages to get the glasses on his face without poking an eye out, wishing for the convenience of his suit. But travelling incognito requires discretion, and the glasses are the most casual, easily concealed host he has for Edith. Maybe he ought to hook her up to one of those smart watches, the glasses aren’t really his kind of look.

“Define ‘distress,’” Beck mutters, rubbing his face beneath the glasses.

_“Target is unconscious, heart rate is dangerously high.”_

Shit. “Project Herod’s feed over my view.”

_“Projecting feed.”_

Before Beck’s eyes, Peter’s room comes into view. The gray-scale image tells him the lights are off, and Herod is recording using night vision; it’s late, even with the time difference between them. Peter’s in his bed, but it takes a second for the image to clear up because he’s thrashing around so much.

For a heart-stopping second, Beck thinks Peter might be having some kind of seizure. But then the audio kicks in, and he hears Peter screaming. It’s a wordless scream, and it _writhes,_ pitching up into a wail and dropping down into a sob between breaths. It’s an electric jolt to Beck’s senses, where moments ago he’d been barely awake, he now feels like he’s been drenched with ice water.

“Put my voice through,” Beck orders Edith. “Peter, can you hear me? Shit, Edith, increase volume by five- _Peter,_ wake up, can you hear me?”

Finally, Peter stills. He pushes himself upright, chest heaving for breath. Tears are still running down his face, and- oh goddamn it, he’s worked a couple stitches loose from his wound. There’s a panicked, hazy look to his eyes as he glances around. Must’ve been some hell of a nightmare.

Beck lets out a breath. “Jesus, kid, don’t scare me like that. I get woken up at 3 AM to find you’re practically sending yourself into cardiac arrest. Jesus christ.”

Peter blinks a few times, confused. “Beck?”

“Yeah, who else?” Beck huffs.

“Oh god.” Peter covers his face with his hands, and Beck can see them trembling. “God. You- you were alerted just because I w- was having a bad dream? What the hell.”

“Language,” Beck chides, just to spite the teen. “And yeah, Herod is monitoring your physical state just in case you try to escape or come down with a sudden affliction. It can’t really differentiate you freaking out over something like this, though.”

Peter’s still breathing fast. Every couple of seconds, a sudden twitch seizes his muscles. “I wasn’t freaking out, I- I was just- why do you even care?” He looks torn between horror and accusation, between being frustrated with Beck for seeing him like this, or frustrated with himself for being like this in the first place. “Why do you- you didn’t h- have to wake me up, you could’ve just ignored it. I’m sorry, I- no, just forget it.”

Before he’s even finished speaking, Peter’s stumbled out of bed, shaking off the sheets twisted around his leg and staggering his way towards the bathroom. He almost throws the door closed behind him, the bang echoing in Beck’s ears.

“Well then.” Beck leans back against the headboard. “Edith, go ahead and close the feed. And uh, ask Herod to put a little light on. Nightlight display.”

_“Command received.”_

“Thanks, hun.” Beck pulls the glasses off and sets them back on the table. He runs a hand through his hair, his tiredness returning tenfold now that the sudden spike of adrenaline has passed.

Alright, so something’s gotta change. That’s abundantly clear to Beck now. For the past several days, the daily reports on Peter have mentioned increased agitation- restless sleep, pacing, fidgeting. But this was just extreme. And yes, sure, _technically_ Beck shouldn’t care if Peter’s screaming himself awake at night because he’s a prisoner, and Beck could just order Herod to ignore it. And it’s not like Beck has shied away from hurting Peter before- both physically and emotionally.

But he also knows that there’s got to be a purpose behind it. Getting Peter to blame himself for the London attack? Useful. Making him feel responsible for his friends being in danger? Useful. But letting him live in this twitchy, tortured state? Not useful. Quite dangerous, actually, because an unbalanced Peter is an unpredictable Peter.

If Beck had to hazard a guess, it’s the confinement driving Peter to the edge. That makes sense. Any normal person would get twitchy after a week cooped up, but a superpowered teen who’s used to swinging from buildings… yeah. Beck’s gonna have to work something out.

But… tomorrow. That can wait until tomorrow. He’s tired.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Something a bit new today with dipping into both POVs! Lemme know what you think in the comments, and I'll see you next time! - Aqua


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** Minor blood/injury description, death mention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hi there, readers! Thanks as always for your comments, PLEASE keep sharing your enthusiasm for this story if you’re enjoying it because it really does make a huge difference. I do start classes on Monday, and right now I have no idea if I’ll be able to update next Saturday or if I’ll have to push them to every other week. Bear with me as I adjust to the new schedule and hopefully the wait won’t be too bad! - Aqua

Chapter Eight

~*~

“So what happened?”

Peter is expecting Virgil’s question, but it still makes him tense. It’s sometime in the late afternoon- after his rude awakening last night, it seems Beck wanted to give him time to sleep before sending Virgil in to check on his wound. The left side of his face is more sore than it’s been for a couple days, now. Peter can tell he accidentally pulled some of the stitches loose, but it’s hard to tell how bad it is without a mirror.

He sits cross-legged on the bed, keeping carefully still as Virgil examines the wound on his face. It’s not bleeding anymore, he doesn’t think, but he knows it was last night because there are bloodstains on his white pillowcase now. Is he supposed to ask for a new one? Or just take it off and leave it by the door? Virgil hasn’t mentioned it and no one else has spoken to Peter yet.

“I guess I slept wrong,” Peter mumbles, avoiding Virgil’s eyes. He isn’t sure if Virgil knows about his nightmare, but he isn’t about to talk about it.

“Hm, guess so.” Virgil is clearly unconvinced. “Luckily, you didn’t reopen the wound itself, just tore some little exits for the sutures. As far along as they are now, I’m comfortable leaving them open. Just wash well every day so they don’t get infected.”

“Okay.” Peter relaxes slightly when Virgil pulls away. “Thank you.”

Virgil nods. “Yep. Shouldn’t take more than a couple days for it to be completely healed. Gonna scar, though.”

Peter pauses. “… oh.”

Despite everything, he hasn’t considered the possibility of the wound leaving a scar. He’s never gotten one before from his various Spider-Man related injuries. But if he thinks about it, he’s never had a wound this deep before. His extra durability typically leaves him with nothing but cuts and bruises that fade within a couple days. Nothing that needed _stitches_ before.

A choking, stinging feeling wells up in his throat. Of course his first scar had to be from this. And of course it had to be on his _face,_ of all places. Even when he gets out of here- and he _will_ get out of here- he’ll always have the scar to remind him how Beck defeated him. It’s not a scar he can be proud of, and Peter never would’ve thought something like this would matter to him but it does.

But he’s not going to cry in front of Virgil or where Beck could see it, so he blinks and clears his throat. “Okay.”

“Yeah, sorry kid,” Virgil says apologetically. “Your hand should be good as new, though.”

“Yeah…” Peter picks at his Velcro cast, fighting the urge to bounce his leg. “Um, Virgil? Do you happen to have like… a mirror or something? In your case?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Virgil reaches into his case and pulls out a smaller first aid kit. “Here, the inside has a mirror.”

Peter takes the little pouch, feeling sheepish. He could’ve done this days ago if he’d just asked. He unzips the kit and sure enough, one of the inside flaps has a little mirror on it.

Peter isn’t prepared for the face that looks back at him. Pale, dark circles under the eyes, messy hair. His cheeks are hollower than he remembers. It’s hard to tell if he looks younger or older than he is. And after not seeing himself for a week, the effect is jarring. There’s an odd disconnect between the sight of his fingers brushing his face and the feeling of it on his skin.

The wound looks awful. He knew it must, from how it felt, but actually seeing it is another thing entirely. It trails from his left temple all the way down to his jaw, clipping the corner of his eyebrow and skirting beside his eye. He didn’t realize he was so close to being blinded, and the thought is chilling.

It’s an ugly line, puffy and red and misshapen from the few stitches still left holding it together. At its widest point, it’s about as thick as his finger, tapering off into a narrowed tip at the top and bottom. Considering this is how it looks after a week of healing, Peter can’t even imagine how bad it was at the start.

The stinging feeling is back, pressing against his eyes. “Thank you.” Peter hands the kit back. “Um, thanks for everything, Virgil.”

“Don’t mention it.” Virgil’s voice is softer. “It’ll look better with time, don’t you worry.”

“Yeah.” Peter smiles weakly. How to explain that he’s less concerned about how the scar looks, and more concerned about what it represents?

Virgil snaps the case shut. “Well, if there’s nothing else that needs attention, I guess I’ll be going then.”

Peter’s heart jolts. “Wait.”

Virgil pauses, giving Peter a curious look.

Peter flushes. “Sorry, I- I mean… do you _have_ to go now?” he asks quickly, desperately hoping he doesn’t sound whiny. “I mean, what’s the rush, right? Why not stay and chat for a while?” He tries for a smile. “Like, you know, we- we don’t really know much about each other? And I figure, there’s no harm in-”

“Your name is Peter Benjamin Parker,” Virgil interrupts calmly. “You’ll be turning seventeen in a few months, on August 27. You were raised by your Aunt May since you were four years old, and her husband, now passed. Armed mugging almost two years ago, you were there to witness it. You’re a science geek, a math geek, basically every kind of geek under the sun. Real genius level IQ. Your best friend is Ned Leeds and your crush is Michelle Jones, goes by MJ. You were blipped, and brought back to help reverse it. Formerly mentored by Tony Stark.” Sympathy flashes in his eyes. “You were there when he died, too.”

Peter can’t breathe. The knowing look on Virgil’s face is too genuine, too understanding, and suddenly he feels as raw and exposed as he did at the trainyard. These people should not know his life this intimately, people Peter barely knows.

Virgil gives him a rueful grin. “Sorry, son, but that’s not how this works. We know you a lot better than you think.” He stands up and grabs the handle of his case. “Until next time.”

It barely registers when Virgil leaves. Peter sits numbly, and it isn’t until his vision blurs that he comes back to himself. It’s enough of a reminder to get him off the bed and into the bathroom, away from the drone’s- and Beck’s- prying gaze before he loses control of his emotions completely.

He’s been vulnerable enough for one night.

__

_~*~_

Peter’s woken by the sound of the door opening.

Such a small sound, but he’s awake in an instant. He hasn’t slept deeply in days, whether it’s at night or one of his restless day naps like this one. The overbearing silence and his increased jumpiness make for a sense of heightened awareness that’s both a blessing and a curse; his chances of getting caught off guard are slim, but he can’t relax.

Peter is up and ready before the door has even closed again. He’s startled to see not one of the people who bring him his meals, not even Virgil, but Beck.

“Well, don’t get up on my account,” Beck jokes, raising his eyebrows.

Peter stares. He still can’t get over how strange it is to see Beck in casual clothes, after first associating him with his Mysterio disguise. He looks like the host of one of those home improvement shows May likes to watch, not a criminal mastermind.

“What are you doing here?” Peter asks finally.

“What, no hello?” Beck sniffs, putting his hands on his hips. “Alright, straight to business, then. After our little late-night chat the other day, I’ve decided we need to find an outlet for you to get rid of all the twitchiness.”

Peter shakes his head. “You’re not really here right now,” he says lowly. “You can’t be, that- that was just yesterday and you were away travelling. You can’t be here now.”

“I am, though,” Beck sighs. He stretches a hand out. “Go ahead, check.”

Peter narrows his eyes. Carefully, he approaches Beck just like he did last time, and quickly taps the back of his hand. He’s met with solid flesh, not the empty expanse of a drone’s illusion, and he lets out a heavy breath. It’s somewhat of a relief, but he doesn’t relax.

From what he’s been able to gather, Beck wasn’t supposed to return for at least a couple more days. The idea that he might’ve returned because of Peter… he doesn’t know what to make of it. It’s bad enough that Beck saw the nightmare at all, but Peter had been desperately hoping they would just… move on and pretend like it hadn’t happened. He should’ve known better.

“So, what, you cut your secret shady business trip short because I had a nightmare?” Peter asks suspiciously. “Why?”

Beck shrugs. “This isn’t the sort of thing I wanted to have my team handle,” he says vaguely. Then he abruptly claps his hands together, making Peter jump. “Now get up, we’re going on a little field trip.”

Peter’s heart slowly climbs back down from his throat. “Where?” he demands, stifling a small ripple of fear.

“Not far. Just to stretch your legs.” Beck studies him, and a mocking glint enters his eye. “Unless you’re not up for it?”

Despite his wariness, Peter know he can’t pass up this opportunity. He slips off the bed, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m fine, let’s go.”

“Yay.” Beck rolls his eyes and turns away, opening the door. “Come on, then.”

Peter can’t help but notice the boldness in Beck’s movement, to turn his back on an enemy with complete confidence he won’t be attacked. It’s an unexpected and bitter reminder of just how effectively he’s trapped Peter.

But it’s quickly forgotten when Peter follows Beck out of the cell. A wave of adrenaline hits him as he realizes he’s out, he’s _really out_ after over a week of confinement. The room they walk into is massive compared to the cell, with high vaulted ceilings. Peter can immediately tell they’re still in Prague from the architecture of the building alone- it’s good to know, somehow. He wasn’t sure if they’d relocated him anywhere or not.

The old historical charm is a jarring disconnect from the harsh, industrial concrete and fluorescence of his cell. But even _more_ jarring is the presence of people- people working at desks with high tech computer monitors, people sitting at small tables in the corners, people walking by and talking in pairs. It’s eerily reminiscent of an office atmosphere, with fewer suits. Not what he would’ve expected for an evil lair.

The worst part though has to be when people look over at him and smile. Or wave. Or even call out, “hey, Peter!” Like they know him. Like they’re friends. Some don’t even acknowledge his presence, while others nod his way and nudge each other.

Peter has known, realistically, that there was an entire team working behind Beck. He’s met several of them during his meals. But to see it so clearly laid out like this, to see the way they see him, like he’s an inside joke of theirs, is incredibly unnerving. He immediately recalls his discussion with Virgil yesterday; _“we know you a lot better than you think.”_

“Keep up, Peter.” 

Beck’s voice snaps Peter out of his thoughts. The man sounds only slightly annoyed, like he can’t even be bothered to be truly cross. Peter nearly trips over his feet as he speeds up a bit, falling into step next to Beck and watching him out of the side of his eye. Just in case.

They’re headed for a door, it seems. There are several of them at random points in the walls; Peter catches a glimpse of another similar looking room through one of them as someone leaves through it.

Then Peter’s vision halts on a particular door. It’s a set of double doors, actually, thick carved wood and polished brass handles. It’s not the detail that catches his eye, though. It’s the sudden, overwhelming buzzing in his head that tells him those are the doors that lead outside.

It seems ridiculous, at first. That they would just be sitting there, part of the wall, with no barrier or padlock or guards. But there’s an instinct deep inside him telling him it’s right, it feels like wind in his hair and sun on his face and the urge to run that seizes him is so powerful, it makes him freeze in place as surely as if he’d turned to stone.

Every muscle in his body is shaking. The doors are the way out. He wants to run. He has to. Get out, get to safety, get to help. There are probably other people out there, society, people that can help him. His mind screams with the need, and it’s like a skittering wild animal pacing around in his skull, all scrambling legs and frothing fangs.

_Get out, get out, get out, get out, get out._

He can see it in his mind’s eye. There are no drones in this room, no active weapons of any kind. Right now, Beck is just an ordinary man. He couldn’t stop Peter. None of them could. It’s a simple matter of running, five seconds max. He can outrun any of the normal people in this room, he’s sure of it, and if someone happened to catch him, he’s strong enough to get away. Just run and he’s out, he’s _free,_ and nothing could stop him.

But Peter doesn’t move. A part of his mind, however distant it seems right now, reminds him what would happen if he did. He feels the threat hanging over him so heavily, it’s as if _he’s_ the one with a sniper trained on him instead of Ned and MJ, wherever they are.

Just run, and two of the most important people in the world to him will die.

And as soon as the reality of it sinks in, Peter knows that’s too high a price. He feels the will leave him in a rush, escaping him in the form of a slow, long exhale. He curls his good hand into a fist, his nails digging into his palm, and forces himself to turn away.

Only then does Peter realize the entire room has gone still. Beck is watching him, has been watching him this whole time, and the grin that spreads across his face now is a horrifying mixture of satisfaction and pride. He gives a single approving nod before turning again, continuing towards the door like nothing happened.

Peter swallows hard, feeling like he’s rotten inside. Like some pathetic, disgusting little creature. The memory of Beck’s mocking voice rings in his ears; _“be a good little spider.”_ He hates it, hates what Beck’s done to him and hates himself letting it happen. But there’s nothing else he can do.

Peter follows Beck into the room.

~*~


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** Minor language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hey readers! Thanks for your patience, I really wasn’t sure if I would get this out today because the first week of classes kicked my ASS. Nothing like a pointless panic over your schedule to get the blood pumping. But all is well now and I’m very happy to bring this chapter to you!
> 
> I’m slowly but surely outlining a long-term plan for this fic. I’m tentatively referring to these first ten chapters at Part One, so in the next couple chapters, things will be happening! I hope the set up hasn’t been too slow paced for yall. I also can't promise that I'll still be able to update weekly, though that is still my goal as of right now.
> 
> It’s understandable that comments have dwindled a bit since the start, but I sure would appreciate your thoughts on how things are going! Please don’t be shy! - Aqua

Chapter Nine

~*~

The room Peter finds himself in is… unremarkable, to say the least.

It’s similar in size and design to the room they’ve come from, only this one is much emptier and seems to have been undergoing some kind of repair at one point. A few scaffolding structures are still constructed around some of the supporting columns, tarps and buckets of paint sitting pushed against the walls. In fact, the only defining feature of the room is how empty it is. There’s nothing really set up and no one hanging around.

There is, however, one drone perched up in the corner of the high ceilings. Peter zeroes in on it almost immediately, but it seems inactive for the most part.

Peter gives Beck a quizzical look. “Why are we here?”

Beck shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “You needed some room; here it is. Should do for a good jogging circle. The columns without scaffolding are stable, you can bounce off them however you like.”

Peter stares at him, not sure if he’s heard correctly. “Really? Just- just like that?”

“Well, yeah.” Beck looks amused. “Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you think everything I do is some kind of plot with an ulterior motive.”

Peter glares, but feels heat creep to his cheeks nonetheless. “Can you blame me?” he mutters, glancing away. The room is definitely big enough to stretch out and get some sorely needed exercise, he has to admit. But why did Beck even bother?

“Oh, one more thing.” Beck’s voice makes Peter’s head whip around. The man pulls his hands from his pockets, opening them to present two very familiar little objects.

“My webshooters?” Peter stifles the instinct to snatch them and instead eyes Beck, confused. “You’re… you’re gonna let me use my webshooters?”

Beck nods, a crooked grin tugging his mouth. “Yeah, why not? Not like you can do any harm.”

Peter flinches. The reminder stings; even if Peter were to use the webshooters to indispose Beck, there’s nothing he could do to prevent the kill order on Ned and MJ from going out.

“Go on,” Beck prompts, “swing to your heart’s desire. Just take it easy on that bum hand of yours.”

Practicality wins out, and Peter quickly takes the webshooters from Beck. They slip back onto his wrists with little thought, though it’s an awkward fit around his cast. The feeling against his skin is an odd combination of reassuring and unfamiliar- it hasn’t been long since he last used them, but it seems like forever.

When Peter glances back up, Beck is looking at him expectantly. An uneasy feeling curls in Peter’s stomach. 

“I’m… I’m not gonna thank you for giving me something you had no right to take away,” he says warily, unconsciously curling his hands towards his chest. Surely Beck isn’t expecting him to?

Beck gives a patronizing smile. “Ah, ah, ah, webshooters are a privilege, Peter,” he chides him. “Mind your manners.”

Peter’s stomach sinks. Of course Beck is. The unfairness of it all is a slap to the face, but there’s nothing he can do. His pride isn’t worth missing this opportunity, and Peter gets the sense Beck knows it, too.

“Thank you,” Peter grits out, his eyes lowered.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Beck’s tone drips with condescension. “Now get going, you’ve only got thirty minutes.”

Any thought of responding drops out of Peter’s mind, and he turns on his heel, darting a few steps away from Beck.

He immediately wants to take to the high ground, shoot a web up to the corner and swing up to a perch. But he’s been inactive for a week, and he doesn’t want to further injure himself. Logically, he has to warm up first before taking on anything strenuous. He breaks into a light jog around the room- and pretends not to see Beck’s approving nod.

The burn in Peter’s muscles is a welcome pain. The pounding of his heart in his ears drowns out any thoughts, his focus going into his labored breathing and the blood racing through his veins. It only takes a couple minutes for him to fully get into it, and it gets easier to ignore Beck watching him from the side.

As soon as he feels warmed up enough, Peter throws a hand out to shoot a web, and then he’s _off._ The rhythm comes back to him as easy as breathing, the rush of wind in his face and adrenaline surging through his veins, and for the first time in over a week he feels well and truly _alive._ He arcs through the air like he’s never left it, careening off the walls and pillars with breakneck speed and hairpin turns. His hand aches from the strain, but it doesn’t falter. Everything about it feels right.

Peter builds momentum. The room blurs before his vision, yet every inch of it is present in his mind, like he can sense every surface before he touches it. This feeling is pure electricity, and after being deprived of it for so long, it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever felt. He only just manages to stop himself from letting out a whoop, remembering at the last second that Beck is there. 

The sound stays trapped in the back of his throat, like he’s swallowed a couple of bumblebees. However, he can’t entirely keep the smile off his face.

Time melts away as Peter swings around the room. Twisting and vaulting against the walls, running up and along the vertical surfaces, landing briefly to launch into some acrobatics before jumping into the air again. It’s pure bliss, like he doesn’t belong anywhere else in the world but here. But all too soon, Beck is calling him back down. 

Peter pauses for breath, clinging up in one of the corners of the room. For a flitting moment, he considers just staying up there. The thought of going back to that tiny, concrete cell recoils in his mind like a salted slug.

But he knows he doesn’t have a choice. Reluctantly, Peter swings back to the ground, landing in front of Beck. He’s breathless and flushed, his heart still pounding, but he feels like he could leap over the Empire State building.

Beck smirks at him. “Have fun?”

Peter’s mood instantly sours. He hates that Beck is patting himself on the back for something this simple. He jerks his arm in a shrug, and wordlessly holds his webshooters out. He wouldn’t believe for a second that Beck will let him keep them.

Beck takes the webshooters. He studies Peter for a moment. “So long as you behave yourself, you’ll get to spend thirty minutes here every day,” he announces.

Peter looks up in surprise. That’s much more generous than he’d been expecting, truth be told.

“Thank you,” Peter says, on impulse. Then he regrets it and glances away, wrapping his arms around himself self-consciously. “So- so, uh, time to head back now?” he asks, picking at his wrist.

“Yep.” Thankfully, Beck doesn’t comment on it and simply leads the way out.

Peter gives the room one last, lingering look before following.

~*~

Beck locks the door to Peter’s room behind him.

That little outing was a lot more successful than he’d hoped it would be. Not only has it done a wonder on Peter’s mental state, but it’s indebted him to Beck in an entirely new way. Thus far, he’s controlled Peter with threats to do harm. Now he has the option to take away something good. Always nice to have some options; variety is the spice of life, as they say.

Beck hands the webshooters off to someone, to be locked up securely. Seeing Peter back in his element was quite illuminating. Admittedly, Beck could stand to have a bit more knowledge about powered superheroes. When his main focus was a normal man in a suit of armor, it can be hard to gauge how to handle heroes with actual, inhuman abilities. To know to what extent they affect everyday life and function.

Miscalculating the effect that confinement would have on Peter was a result of that. It’s one thing to know that the kid isn’t a normal human, to see his enhanced speed, strength, agility, and durability. But it’s another thing entirely to be confronted with inhuman instincts and reactions.

Sometimes, there’s this look in Peter’s eyes that makes Beck wonder. What has that spider DNA done to the kid’s mind?

Beck sets off at a brisk walk. There’s a distinct light-hearted feel to the room now, an unanticipated but welcome side-effect. Considering so many months of planning were spent getting to know anything and everything about Peter- if only to better manipulate him- Beck imagines that many of them feel some sort of… familiarity with the boy. Someone they regard fondly and enjoy seeing in lighter spirits, despite his role in their operation.

Maybe Peter having this small bit of happiness makes them feel better about what they’re putting him through. Fine by Beck- he has no room for guilty consciences.

“Hey, Beck, got a second?”

A voice makes Beck pause. He turns over his shoulder to see Virgil Shultz, jogging to catch up. The medic is one of the few personnel that’s more than just a few years older than Beck. There’s a certain sense of accomplishment in that, having someone from an older generation answer to him.

“Virgil, my man, what’s up?” Beck greets him with a grin. “Talk to me.”

“Now, Beck, you know I’m on your side here,” Virgil starts off- never a good sign. “And I sure appreciate what you did for my son. But I have a couple… reservations about Peter.” 

Beck can feel his smile grow strained. “Oh?” he asks.

Virgil spreads his hands. “See, I realized his birthday is coming up in a couple months and I got to thinking-”

“We should throw him a surprise party?” Beck asks sarcastically. “Great idea, Virgil.”

Virgil laughs weakly. “No, Beck, I mean- I got thinking about the long-term plan,” he explains hesitantly. “How long are you gonna just… keep him locked up here? For the rest of his life? Or, the rest of yours?”

“Why the interest?” Beck lets all pretenses drop, his tone and face cold. “Having second thoughts?”

“No, no, none of that,” Virgil says quickly. “I’m still all-in. I just feel like we’re kinda in the dark here, you feel me? I would just feel better if I knew how long you were planning on keeping him here.”

“I’ll keep him here as long as it takes,” Beck snaps.

Virgil frowns, confused. “As long as… _what_ takes?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Beck claps Virgil on the shoulder, suddenly friendly again. “Listen, I understand your concerns, I do, believe me. But trust me when I say I’ve got everything under control, alright? I haven’t forgotten about our primary goal here.”

Virgil still looks uncertain, but he’s lost his nerve. “Yeah, yeah of course, I know,” he says finally. “We’ve made it this far, haven’t we? And you’ve gotten us here.”

“You said it, my friend.” Beck’s hand slides off. “Now then, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Right, of course.” Virgil ducks his head. “Sorry to trouble you.”

Beck watches him go, unhappy.

Dammit. He wasn’t expecting anyone to question his decision to keep Peter around. Because trying to explain his reason out loud sounds… quite unhinged, if he’s being honest. And pointless. And a waste of time, energy, and resources. But it’s not their place to judge his methods!

An uneasy part of Beck wonders if Peter’s getting through to them. Appealing to their humanity. Or… something. He knows his team is thick-skinned; none of them would be involved in an operation that gets people killed if they weren’t. But he also knows firsthand that actually _seeing_ the effects of their actions up close and personal is a very different thing.

Now Beck is certain he made the right decision in keeping the footage of the trainyard fight to himself. He doesn’t need to give them any more reason to feel bad for Peter.

But Beck isn’t too worried. Once they start Phase Two, there’ll be plenty to keep them busy and not focused on Peter.

And all the little holes in the net keeping Peter here will close up for good.

~*~


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** Language, mention of violence/injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hi there readers! Thank you SO much for your comments, I was so excited to see the response pick up a bit! PLEASE keep it up! As I said, I’m still trying to stick with weekly updates, and your support means the world to me.
> 
> This chapter is set about a week after the last one, not much has happened except Peter getting used to his daily exercise and his wounds continuing to heal. I hope you enjoy! - Aqua

Chapter Ten

~*~

“Flex your fingers. Any pain?”

Peter fans out the fingers of his right hand. “No.”

Virgil nods approvingly. “Now make a fist. Anything?”

Peter curls his fingers into a fist. “Nope.”

“Good.” Virgil tucks the Velcro cast away into his case and gives Peter a grin. “I’d say you’re all set.”

“Thank you,” Peter murmurs, brushing his fingers along his knuckles. “Really, it… it means a lot.”

There’s no sign of the previous injury in his knuckles, and despite the extra workout he’s been getting for a week now, it feels like it’s at full strength. Virgil was right; it’s a complete recovery. But the same can’t be said for the one on his face. With all the sutures out, Peter can lightly trail his fingers across the former wound, feeling the ridges of scarred skin.

Virgil must guess where his thoughts are. “Hey, don’t worry about that,” he says kindly. “It looks badass.”

It doesn’t make Peter feel better. He doesn’t want to look badass, he wants to look normal. But he can appreciate the effort, and manages a small smile. “Thanks.”

Strange as it is, Peter has to admit he feels a sort of fondness towards the medic. All Virgil has done is take care of Peter’s injuries and show him some basic decency, but it’s far preferable to the crushing isolation or Beck’s unnerving mind games. When Peter’s with him, he feels… not _safe,_ entirely, but much less on edge, and that’s got to be worth something.

Peter hasn’t forgotten that Virgil is the enemy. He’s complacent in Peter’s imprisonment. But the way Peter sees it, it’s better to accept the kindness when offered, to find someone in this lion’s den to align himself with. And if he’s being honest… he hopes he’ll get through to Virgil eventually. He can tell the man has a good heart, despite it all. Maybe he’ll be Peter’s way out of here.

Peter lets his smile fall away. “I’m… I’m sorry we had to meet like this,” he says quietly, and truly means it. “I think it would’ve been cool to know you in, uh… different circumstances.”

Virgil’s brows crease together, and he sighs. It’s a heavy sigh, almost tired. “Yeah, me too, kid,” he says.

Peter’s heart misses a beat. Out of the corner of his eyes, he’s very aware of the drone observing them from its corner. He has no way of knowing if someone is watching them right now, but this might be his only chance. Right now, Virgil seems… conflicted, and if Peter’s careful, he might be able to plant the seeds of changing Virgil’s mind.

“Hey, Virgil?” he asks hesitantly. “Do you-” 

The cell door opens, and Beck strides in.

Peter closes his mouth, suppressing the urge to jump at the sudden movement. A sinking feeling forms in his stomach at the expression on Becks’ face. He looks… almost eager, which probably doesn’t mean anything good for Peter.

“Alright,” Beck says, putting his hands on his hips expectantly, “we all wrapped up here?”

Virgil nods, standing up from the bed. “Yep, he’s all better.” There’s a sudden hint of tension in Virgil’s shoulders, and an unreadable emotion in his eyes.

“Good.” Beck grins at Peter. “Now say goodbye to Virgil, _hopefully_ we won’t be needing his services again.”

It takes a second to process. Now that Peter’s injuries are healed, he doesn’t have a reason to see Virgil anymore. He probably won’t get more than a passing glance of him on his way to and from his exercise. The realization is abrupt, and hits hard. The only person here Peter’s really connected with, and now he won’t get to see him again.

It’s salt in the wound, and Peter has a feeling Beck is fully aware of it.

Peter fights not to let his upset show on his face. He meets Virgil’s gaze. “See you around,” he offers. 

Virgil smiles sadly. “Yeah, see you.”

The medic leaves the cell, leaving Peter and Beck alone.

Peter eyes Beck warily. Beck seems to realize right away what he’s wondering, and holds out his arm with a sigh. “Go on and check.”

Peter feels his cheeks heat up, but he takes the invitation nonetheless and checks that Beck isn’t an illusion. He can’t quite explain why it’s so important to him to know. If Beck is away from the base and uses a projection of himself to talk to Peter, there’s no harm in that. So why does the possibility leave Peter uneasy?

Peter sits back on the bed. “So, did you… want to talk to me?” he asks. There’s almost a visible sense of purpose in Beck, something that’s not quite excitement and not quite impatience. Anticipation?

“More like show you something,” Beck says. “Herod, would you play that recording I queued up, pal?”

The drone fires up, an imagine blinking to life against the wall. Peter immediately goes cold with dread. It’s been a while since he’s been shown any news reports about the London attack, but he can’t imagine what else Beck would be showing him.

A smartly dressed woman appears in the projection. There’s a vague familiarity about her, and Peter frowns as he tries to think-

 _“Welcome back to Queens Daily News,”_ the woman says. _“Next is an update about the ongoing ‘Spidey Watch.’ We are approaching the third week of local superhero Spider-Man’s absence, and crime is on the rise.”_

It hits Peter. This is the news reporter from his local station back home. He remembers May watching the morning celebrity dish as he got ready for school, and coming home from a successful Spider-Man outing to watch her report on it. And she’s talking about _him._

_“Though it wasn’t that long ago that the red and blue crusader disappeared from our city rooftops, many are taking advantage of the hero’s absence. So far there have been nearly a dozen reported muggings and two armed robberies at local businesses, the most recent of which left three people hospitalized.”_

Peter’s blood turns to ice. He doesn’t have a lot of enemies, not really, and he knows his presence deters pettier crimes from being carried out. But that’s a double-edged sword, because now that he’s not there, it’ll be even more tempting to take advantage of the opportunity.

Now that he’s not there, innocent people are suffering.

 _“Following this most recent crime,”_ the woman continues, _“the NYPD moved to address public unrest. Captain Stacy of the 110th precinct released this statement, regarding the jump in crime rates following the web-slinger’s disappearance.”_

The image changes to footage of a stern man in uniform standing at a podium, a small crowd of reporters before him.

 _“The masked vigilante known as Spider-Man is not and has not ever been an employee of the NYPD,”_ the man says. _“Prior occasions of cooperation between said individual and NYPD officers were spontaneous, unorganized events. His identity and whereabouts are not known to anyone at the NYPD, and we have received no contact from him. That said, certain measures should be taken by Queens residents in the face of the recent crime wave. We recommend residents limit their travel at night and alone, and invest in a home security system. The NYPD will be running extra patrols around the city as a precaution.”_

The image shifts back to the news reporter. _“If you have any information or pictures of Spider-Man, you can post them to our Facebook page. Our next story is a-”_

The projection disappears.

Peter stares at the blank wall for a second afterwards, extremely conscious of Beck’s gaze resting on him. He exhales slowly. “Why did you show me that?”

“Well, I figured you’d appreciate a little update,” Beck says, his voice smug. “Seeing as you’re a bit out of the loop at the moment.”

Peter glances at Beck. He wants to feel angry at Beck’s spitefulness, but instead he just feels hollow. “So the public thinks Spider-Man just… vanished.” His throat closes up. “What- what do they think happened to Peter Parker? What does _May_ think?”

Beck studies him for a moment, as if debating whether or not to answer. “All she knows is that you went missing before the conference in Berlin,” he says eventually. “Hill’s side of the government thinks that you couldn’t handle the pressure of superhero life and ran away. The normie side of the government thinks Peter Parker is another tragic case of an American teenager going missing in a foreign country. Trafficking, probably.”

Peter cringes. That probably means his school believes that, too- everyone minus Ned and MJ, of course. And after that rumor Brad started… oh boy, he’s going to have to come up with a _hell_ of an explanation for all this when he gets back.

“And May?” Peter asks. “What does she think?”

Beck shrugs. “Wouldn’t know, haven’t asked her. But I’m told she insists you wouldn’t have run.”

Peter swallows. “So she thinks something must’ve happened to me.” A pit opens up in his stomach. He runs a hand through his hair. “God. Please, isn’t- isn’t there anything you can do? Just to let her know I’m okay?”

Beck tilts his head, considering. “Oh, sure. I could let her in on the secret, absolutely.” He lifts a finger. “As long as you’re okay with having drone surveillance on her, twenty-four-seven.”

Frustrated tears spring to Peter’s eyes. “No, that’s… no. I don’t want that.”

“Then she’ll just have to keep wondering,” Beck says simply. “But hey, ignorance can be bliss sometimes. How much better do you think she’d feel if she knew where you really were?”

Peter glares down at his hands. He hates the idea of May not knowing what happened to him. But he has to admit that he hates the idea of her knowing even more. It already burns him up inside that Ned and MJ have to deal with the fact that he’s captured and they can’t do anything about it, can’t even tell anyone. He doesn’t want someone else he cares about going through that, if he can help it.

“Not much,” he answers finally.

“Yeah,” Beck agrees. “Best to keep her in the dark.”

He takes a step forward as he speaks, and Peter processes the movement a second too late. Something sharp jabs into his shoulder, a needle-thin sting piercing his muscle. An instant flood of fatigue sweeps over Peter, drenching him as thoroughly as a wave. He turns his head in time to see Beck withdraw a little pen-shaped object; his last fleeting thought recognizes it as a tranquilizer.

And then everything goes black.

~*~

Beck tucks the tranquilizer away as Peter collapses onto the bed.

It would’ve been easier to drug Peter’s food, but he didn’t want to risk Peter noticing and getting set on edge. Plus, he wants to avoid a situation where Peter becomes distrustful of his food and refuses to eat. Beck wouldn’t put it past him. So he gets a chance to use the tranquilizer pen again; it’s a win-win.

Beck strides through the door, not bothering to close it behind him. “Alright, folks, let’s get moving,” he calls.

Almost everything in the base has already been packed up and prepared for the move, their tech carefully tucked away into unassuming wooden crates and loaded into generic moving vans. Beck saved Peter for last; it’s going to be a long drive to the private airfield, load up, cross-continental flight, and second drive to the new facility. The tranquilizer should keep Peter under long enough to make the trip, but Beck figured it’d be best to wait until the last possible minute.

He’s not sorry to say goodbye to the temporary headquarters. The age of the historic building made certain things difficult, and its central location in the old district of town meant they had to keep a lower profile, take extra precautions. It’ll be nice to have a remote, secure facility to really stretch his legs in. And test his drones in full-throttle.

It’s a bit of a mad rush as the final loads are sent off, his team gradually distributing themselves between the vans and unmarked cars. When they’re gone, there will be no sign they were ever here; putting up some drywall and flooring in Peter’s room, and tile in his bathroom, makes it look like an oddly placed- but not suspicious- bonus room. Definitely not a secret concrete cell.

Before Beck leaves himself, he checks on Peter. The boy is being transported in this neat little chamber about the general size of a coffin- disturbing thought, but apt comparison. It’s glass, with a padded inside and carefully monitored air and temperature controls. He’s strapped down in it, not out of any concern of him waking up but more so that he doesn’t get jostled around during the move.

He looks younger when he’s sleeping, Beck notes. That scar on his face is a brutal thing, but it’s softened by the slack in his face.

After a final check that everything’s in order, Beck pats the top of the chamber and sends Peter off to get loaded into the last truck.

“Happy trails, Peter,” he calls, mostly for his own amusement. He taps the watch on his wrist, a newer addition after the nightmare incident. “Edith, bring the car around front.”

On to bigger and better things.

~*~


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** Nightmare, claustrophobia, panic attacks, slight dysphoria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hi guys! Thanks so much for your patience, it was my goal to update weekly but as I said it might, school got in the way. I appreciate all the kind words of encouragement you’ve sent, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! I’m still extremely excited about what I’ve got planned. **Please let me know what you think!**
> 
> ALSO! I will tell you that we will definitely be hearing from MJ and Ned soon enough! But first, things are happening ;3 - Aqua

Chapter Eleven

~*~

It’s dark.

Peter’s not sure how he knows this. He can’t open his eyes, they’re too heavy, like his eyelashes have turned to lead- _why is that, can’t he just look around?_ It’s a blackness that seems to sink through his lids, so heavy, wrapping him up like a cocoon, he can almost feel it like arms wrapping around his middle and squeezing.

His body feels slow and big and awkward, why can’t he move- _trapped trapped trapped trapped-_ there’s something pressing against him on all sides, he can sense it, a hard flat surface jostles the back of his head and his breath fogs above him, warm steam on his face, almost wet- wet like water, dripping, rushing through the concrete debris of a destroyed warehouse as pain rips through his leg and he screams for help but no one hears-

He’s alone, so alone, he hears nothing but his own heart and it’s _loud,_ it’s impossibly loud, why can he hear it so loud? It’s beating too loud, too fast, he’s panicking- he tries to call out. His body doesn’t respond, doesn’t move- he’s so _heavy-_ and breath hisses out of him, quick and low. It’s more of a vibration than anything, a sound he feels in his muscles more than he hears, and it’s like nothing he’s felt before. It confuses and terrifies him and his heart beats faster, faster, _faster-_

Light, suddenly. He shies from it violently, some wordless sound getting strangled in his throat, flinching as he tries to move away from it. His body doesn’t respond- _he’s heavy-_ it can’t, there’s something holding him down, keeping him trapped, and his skin crawls.

New sensations flood over him, each other them too loud, too much- voices, he doesn’t recognize, doesn’t process, all of the words crashing to pieces in his ears and sending shockwaves through his body. The light is unceasing, and his world shakes, tips, jolts. He feels new air on his face and the sounds get louder and the light gets brighter and a strong sudden scent floods his nose, rushing blood, warm bodies, acrid smoke and rubber tires and wet pavement. It all trembles through him, he can feel himself shaking from the force of it.

Hands press onto him, the weight is light but he feels every inch of it, every vibration, every small amount of force pressing _down, down, down,_ too heavy, like a ton of concrete. He hisses at it, tries to pull away, tries to strike out, tries to bite, sink his fangs into-

Fangs? 

The thought freezes him. For a heart-lurching moment, his consciousness wrestles with itself inside his head. What fangs? Why does that sound wrong? (Right?) He doesn’t have- _does_ he have-?

Then something sharp pricks his arm, and everything slips away.

~*~

“Where does this load go?”

Beck swiftly eyes the boxes. “Main command center,” he says. “That’s part of the security system circuit.” 

“Gotcha, boss.”

Beck watches the man wheel away the stack of boxes, his hands on his hips.

The transport didn’t go as smoothly as he’d hoped it would. About halfway through, Peter woke up. Beck wasn’t there, of course, travelling in a completely different vehicle. But he’s been told that while Peter wasn’t fully conscious- unable to do more than thrash a bit in his restraints- he was much more so than he should’ve been. They’d only discovered this when his monitoring system reported his heart rate had jumped to one-hundred and twenty. 

Since then, Beck has checked and double-checked the dose of tranquilizer he gave Peter; it should’ve been more than sufficient to keep him under for the entire duration of the trip. So he’s left with the unsettling puzzle of why Peter wasn’t affected by the drug the way he should’ve been, the way he was last time.

He’s also trying to make sure everything gets unpacked and set up smoothly. It’s a big compound to fill, and the sooner they get the surveillance equipment back up, the better. Edith keeps him updated via his watch, but he’ll feel a lot better to have eyes on his targets again.

Beck lifts his wrist up to speak into his watch. “Edith, status report on the barrier.”

_“Status; unchanged. Cloaking technology is functioning properly.”_

“Thanks, dear.” Beck runs a hand through his hair, trying to calm down. Moving day is always stressful. But this is a good change. Now he has a _proper_ hero hideout, safe and secure from prying government eyes, with the space and freedom to do whatever he needs. That Wakandan tech is fierce stuff; to the outside eye, there’s nothing here but empty, rolling fields, dotted with clumps of woodland.

Another pair of team members comes by with a rolling stack of crates. “Where are we setting up the lab?” one asks.

Beck glances over at them. “Lab is the next floor up, elevators are down the hall and to the-”

Edith’s voice comes from his watch.

_“Target is awake and distressed.”_

Beck turns away from the men abruptly. “Excuse me, gentlemen.” He briskly walks away, to one of several small offices on this level, and closes the door behind him. “Edith, display feed.”

From his watch, a holographic projection flickers into the room. It’s the view of Peter’s room, nearly identical to his previous one, except made of sturdy metal alloy instead of concrete and with a nicer- but just as sparse- bathroom. 

Peter’s awake and pacing rapidly, his projection flitting back and forth in front of Beck. The hologram technology Edith has is quite impressive, so there isn’t a lot of detail lost in the image. Beck can clearly see the anxiety in Peter’s face, and can see his lips moving ever so slightly as he mumbles to himself.

“Put me through.” Beck clears his throat, holding his arm out so Peter will be able to see his image clearly as it projects into the room. “Welcome home, Peter. Enjoy your little nap?”

Peter rounds on him, not even sparing a moment to look surprised to see his holographic image, or to look insulted by his jab. “What did you _do_ to me?” he demands.

Beck chuckles. “Relax, it was just another tranquilizer.”

“What? No, not- not that.” Peter backs away, shaking his head. “It was so- everything was so intense, I could hear, and- and- and smell everything? More than usual, it was so intense, it hurt.” His hands rake through his hair. “And that- that feeling, inside me, like there was something in there with me and I could sense it and it could sense me? But it _was_ me. And I was it, but it wasn’t right.”

Beck blinks. Well, that’s… different.

“… gee, they must’ve hit you with more than I thought,” he mutters finally. “You should lay down, sleep the rest of it off.”

“I’m not delirious!” Peter snaps. “Whatever you gave me-”

“It was the exact same tranquilizer as before!” Beck interrupts. “The exact same dose!”

“Well it _did something!”_ Peter insists, a hint of desperation coloring his voice. He’s trembling. “Those feelings, those thoughts, they- they weren’t normal.”

Beck frowns. “You were barely conscious, Peter, you weren’t thinking clearly,” he says patiently. “Just lay down, get some rest, and you’ll feel better.” This extreme reaction is a bit unnerving- maybe something in the drug went bad and caused an unexpected reaction in the kid.

“It wasn’t normal.” Peter wraps his arms around himself, glancing away. He takes a deep breath. “… please, can’t you let Virgil check it out? Just to be safe?”

It’s suddenly crystal clear. Beck can _feel_ the way his expression darkens, and it’s an ugly thing, mimicking the ugly feeling knotting up in his stomach.

“Now I see,” Beck says lowly. “You want your good friend Virgil to come chat with you, huh? That’s what this is about?”

Peter looks up in surprise. “What? No, I-”

“You shouldn’t lie about these things to get your way, Peter. It’s unbecoming of you.” Beck’s voice is hard with anger, to the point that he barely recognizes it. His hand aches from the fist he’s clenched it in.

Beck has made it _explicitly clear_ that Virgil isn’t a friend for Peter to hang around with, or try to garner sympathy from. But instead of accepting it, Peter’s trying to make up some far-fetched excuse to get time with Virgil again. It’s sneaky, and defiant, and Beck might be impressed if he wasn’t so furious.

“I’m not lying!” Peter protests. “I just want to-”

“That’s _enough,”_ Beck hisses. “I don’t want to hear anything more about this, or you lose your exercise privileges. Do you understand me?”

Peter’s eyes flare wide with emotion. Shock, confusion, hurt, anger. It twists his features, pulling the jagged scar along the side of his face out of symmetry. It’s interesting, that despite fully knowing his limited freedom is conditional, Peter is still so thrown by Beck threatening to take it away.

“Fine,” Peter answers finally, eyes dropping to the floor.

“Good.” Beck can’t even feel satisfied at the show of obedience, and ends the transmission without another word, Peter’s image blinking away. He stands there for a moment, fuming.

 _“Ooh, Virgil’s the best,”_ Beck mocks to himself, imitating Peter’s higher voice. _“I wanna hang out with my best pal, Virgil._ Ugh. Unbelievable.” He shakes his head. “Edith, what are we gonna do with that boy?”

_“Request unclear, please rephrase.”_

“Nevermind.” Beck heaves a sigh, and opens the office door.

The two men are still waiting there with their stack of crates, looking sheepish. Beck rubs his face. “Down the hall and to the _left,”_ he answers, before they can ask.

With hurried thank you’s, the men leave. Beck looks out the window to see several more moving vans still in the process of being unloaded. He can feel a headache coming on.

 _‘Patience, Beck,’_ he reminds himself. The sooner they get everything settled, the sooner Phase Two can begin. And once that happens, he has a feeling Peter’s behavioral problems won’t be much of a concern. After all, escaping is a lot less appealing when you don’t have a life to escape back to.

“Edith, when is Mr. Jenkins scheduled to arrive?” Beck asks.

_“Mr. Jenkins is scheduled to arrive in thirty-seven hours.”_

Crunch time, then. The compound has to be set up beforehand, and there’s still details to be worked out before the launch. Drones to fine-tune, recordings to be made, payment to be settled. But assuming all goes well, ‘Spider-Man’ will be dead within the week.

And Mysterio will emerge as the true next great hero of humanity.

~*~


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** minor violence and injury, mentions of death, nondescript vomiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hi readers, thanks for your patience! Clearly, trying to keep up with weekly updates just isn’t possible now that school’s started, but I feel pretty comfortable with every other week, so I hope you’ll continue to support me!
> 
> Please let me know what you think! I’m really excited about this story and the plans I have for it, but I have to make sure that it’s worthwhile for me to pursue because I dedicate a significant amount of time and effort into it that could be used in other ventures. If people aren’t reading and enjoying it, then it’s hard to justify it to myself HAHA. And the only way I can know if you guys are reading and enjoying it is if you let me know! So please don’t be shy! 
> 
> As an aside, I originally had plans to revisit MJ and Ned in this chapter, but Beck is a damn scene stealer. But we’ll definitely get them in the next chapter! - Aqua

Chapter Twelve

~*~

Peter paces back and forth.

It’s been two days since the abrupt move to the new facility, but he still can’t relax. Whatever was in his system- and to hell with what Beck said, Peter _knows_ something was wrong- seems to have cleared up, but the memory of his reaction lingers at the edge of his consciousness. He can’t shake the way his senses had felt, that ultra-heightened awareness. 

On top of that, Beck’s been acting odd. He’s delivering most of Peter’s meals now and when he does, he has this sense about him, like he knows something. It sets Peter on edge, that look in Beck’s eyes. Whatever it is, he’s playing it close to the vest, being unusually quiet and taking a break from his usual antagonization of Peter. And Peter can’t even be grateful for that, because he can’t stop thinking about what Beck might be plotting.

He can’t have anything nice these days.

As if further proving his point, the drone in his room suddenly comes alive. An image flashes to life on one of his walls, and sound fills the room. The surprise of it makes Peter jump, and he clutches his chest, where he can hear his heart pounding against his ribcage.

 _“What,_ what do you want?” Peter demands, trying to sound angry but mostly just startled.

There’s no reply from the intercom, and the projection keeps playing. It takes Peter a second to process what he’s looking at. It’s live footage of some kind of event- a parade? Or charity walk? There’s a whole block full of people marching in the street with signs, but they don’t look like protesters. There’s cheering, and matching T-shirts, and music playing from somewhere in the background. It’s next to the harbor, and there are even a few small boats adorned in colorful banners floating close by, people cheering from the decks.

Uncertainly, Peter sinks down onto his bed and focuses in on the reporter speaking to the camera.

_“-the fourth annual walk-a-thon for New York’s Center for Children, and we are experiencing a historic turn out! If you’d like to donate to the cause, please call the number on the bottom of the screen now. For the next six hours, all donations will be doubled by-”_

Ah, so it _is_ a charity thing. Peter now recognizes one of the buildings lining the street as a children’s hospital he’s swung past before on patrols. He can even see small faces at the windows, watching the spectacle in the streets below. But the question is, why is he being shown this?

“Uh, Beck?” Peter calls out, just to try. “What is this?”

No response comes from the drone’s intercom. An uneasy feeling settles in his stomach.

Peter looks at the news report again, to see if he’s missed anything. This is his local station back home, but it doesn’t seem to be about anything relevant to him. It’s not a segment about Spider-Man; though he does spot some people sporting Spidey merch in the crowd, which is sweet to see. It’s not about anyone he knows, unless Pepper is sponsoring the event? He narrows his eyes at the image, trying to see if the Stark logo is anywhere to be found on the banners and tents-

A scream rings out, followed immediately by an explosion.

Peter jumps to his feet, his breath catching in his throat.

The camera jolts as the reporter cuts off, and the scene falls into chaos. More screaming fills the air as people start to run- or try to, in the case of the people in the streets, because the crowd is so dense there’s no room. The camera whirls about wildly for a moment, the screen a blur, before evening out enough to get a shaky but clear image.

It’s aiming up, at the buildings towering over the crowded street, and a streak of red and blue comes into view.

Chills erupt across Peter’s skin. He blinks, rubbing his eyes to make sure he’s seeing correctly. Because the camera is showing Spider-Man, swinging between the buildings, being pursued by someone in jet-powered armor. Among all the noise, Peter can very clearly hear cries of, “ _look, it’s Spider-Man!”_

Before his eyes, a fight between Spider-Man and the unknown foe ensues. It’s the most unnerving kind of déjà vu, watching this imitation of him fight the same way he would. All the movements are natural, familiar, exactly how Peter would respond in the same situation. The Spider-Man expertly avoids blasts from the foe’s arm cannon, while weaving a supportive web over the streets below to catch stray bits of debris.

Even as Peter’s mind reels and his heart beats out of his chest, an absent part of him recognizes this must be Beck’s doing- a drone illusion. But why? Is the foe an illusion too? Peter thinks it must be, but then he remembers how he fought the fire elemental and had absolutely no idea it wasn’t real, and suddenly he’s not sure.

The foe comes to a pause in the air, hovering from jets on the back of the suit. An unfamiliar masculine voice filters out. _“How flattering of you to come out of hiding on my account, Spider-Man.”_

The Spider-Man illusion comes to a landing, perched on the side of a building. _“Don’t give yourself that much credit,”_ he quips.

The voice is Peter’s, but _wrong,_ somehow. Muffled and distant, sure, but there’s something else about it that makes Peter’s hair stand on end. It’s not too out of line from something he’d say, but he can’t recall ever actually saying it. So what, they’ve cut together recordings of his voice, then? Or developed some kind of voice modifier? 

Spider-Man launches into action again, springing toward the foe with webs at the ready. The first shots are avoided as the foe arcs through the air, returning fire with his cannon. One of the shells explodes too close to Spider-Man, and the force throws him back against the building, metal shards of shrapnel pinning him into place by his suit.

Despite knowing it’s not real, despite not actually being there, Peter winces. One of the shards has landed right next to Spider-Man’s face, and Peter’s scar almost aches.

Spider-Man rips himself free from the shrapnel. His mask stays behind. The fabric is snagged on one of the shards, and tears off in shreds. It falls like ribbons, like confetti, exposing Spider-Man’s face completely.

And suddenly Peter is staring at his own face, from the view of a live news camera.

The camera dips for a second and comes back up, zooming in. Illusion Peter’s face is unscarred, aside from a minor cut from the shrapnel. Wide-eyed in perfect surprise, _his_ eyes, though less tired and haunted than they’ve been lately. And god, he looks so young- does Peter _really_ look that young?

The illusion of him freezes just long enough for determination to settle over his features before he jumps into the fight again. Over the sound of explosions and screams, Peter can hear murmurings in the crowd, exclamations of surprise- 

_“That’s Spider-Man?”_

_“-can’t be older than sixteen-”_

_“He’s been a kid this whole time?”_

_“Who is that?”_

_“-just a kid?”_

_“- really him?”_

_“Is that Spider-Man?”_

_“Someone should do something!”_

Peter’s stomach is in knots. The gravity of what Beck’s done hits him like a pile of bricks. The illusion is jarringly realistic even to Peter, who _knows_ it’s an illusion, so there’s no question whether everyone else will believe it’s real. His face has been seen wearing the Spider-Man suit on live television, witnessed by hundreds of people.

His secret identity is gone.

Peter’s knees are weak. The unfairness of it all is staggering, and he’s torn between wanting to scream and wanting to cry. In the end it all cancels out, and he’s left standing frozen and silent, unable to look away from the broadcast.

Illusion Peter seems to have his foe on the ropes. The arm canon’s taken damage and is left sparking and stuttering, and one of the foe’s jets keeps flickering and jerking him down. But the foe catches his balance, and a rocket launcher unfolds itself from his back, metal plates shifting and whirring as the mechanism snaps into place. The weapon points over his shoulder, the tip of a missile visible in its barrel, and red light courses through the machinery as it prepares to fire.

Shouts of alarm ring out, and Illusion Peter’s eyes widen. He tenses, preparing to evade the missile and let it harmlessly splash into the now clear harbor behind him.

Then the foe aims the rocket launcher at the children’s hospital.

A split second later, it fires.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion. Peter sees the missile fire, a counter explosion roaring from the back of the weapon. Despite the poor angle and shaky camera quality and the distance, he can see realization dawn on his illusion’s face as he instantly leaps towards the missile. In the back of Peter’s mind, he tries to weigh the odds of the foe- and by extension, the missile- being illusions too. Is all of this some long-winded plan of Beck’s, or has he just taken advantage of a real situation to unleash his illusion on?

The people, the children, inside that hospital are real. And for a single moment, Peter has no idea if they’re about to die.

Illusion Peter lands on the side of the hospital before the missile hits. He barely stops moving, immediately pushing off again with his arms outstretched. When he grabs the missile, it doesn’t explode- it changes direction, moving from the force Illusion Peter propelled himself with. The effect is this; Illusion Peter pushes the missile out of the path of the hospital. Instead, it sails over the street and down into the harbor.

It disappears in a massive splash, taking Illusion Peter with it.

Peter blinks at the broadcast, thrown off by the sudden and absolute stillness that’s overtaken the scene. Tentatively, he puzzles over what Beck is trying to accomplish with this production. He’s exposed Peter’s secret identity to the world, probably in an attempt to make escape less appealing by taking away the option to return to his normal life. But where does Beck go from here, now that he’s brought Spider-Man back into the public eye? Surely he can’t just replace Peter with an illusion and expect it to last forever, there’s too many variables, so maybe this-

The harbor explodes.

Peter’s train of thought comes screeching off the tracks. The column of water that shoots into the air is nearly as tall as the buildings surrounding the harbor, made of white frothing streams. The sound of the explosion comes through edged with heavy static, which tells Peter it was an incredibly loud explosion. Even so, he can hear the screams from the crowd, making his hair stand on end. And through all the chaos, one single thought blazes through Peter’s mind.

The illusion Peter never came out of the water.

Peter’s almost numb as the realization sinks in. He doesn’t move as the scene further unfolds into chaos and finally, _finally,_ the live feed cuts away to a frazzled looking reporter in a newsroom, who shakily recounts the events. He doesn’t move in the minutes that stretch on after, when police finally get control of the situation and report him dead. He doesn’t even move when reports come in claiming Mysterio showed up to save the day, chasing the foe off and helping police with damage control. All he can do is watch, his burning eyes trailing the words slowly crawling across the bottom of the broadcast.

_Unknown villain attacks charity walk._

_Spider-Man’s identity revealed as sixteen-year-old Peter Parker._

_Spider-Man confirmed dead following harbor search._

_Mysterio arrives to chase off villain._

_Unknown villain still at large._

_No furthers deaths reported after attack._

_Injury rate climbs into the hundreds._

_Several blocks shut down following charity walk attack._

_Statement released by NYPD regarding Spider-Man’s identity and death._

_City in mourning following death of local hero._

_Spider-Man, identified as sixteen-year-old Peter Parker, confirmed dead following harbor explosion._

There’s a disconnect between Peter’s mind and body, some cut wire preventing him from reacting to the information. He’s felt this stillness before. It takes him right back to the trainyard, staring into Beck’s cold gaze as the train barreled past just inches behind him, the wind roaring in his ears. He feels trapped in his own head, watching helplessly from behind eyes of glass as time stretches on- how long, he isn’t sure. It feels like one single moment suspended, one horrible moment that will never end.

Eventually the reporter pauses, clearly reading something being shown to her from behind the camera. _“We have a breaking update,”_ she says after a moment. _“The superhero known as Mysterio is holding an impromptu press conference, only hours after the attack. We’re bringing you live coverage now.”_

Beck’s face appears on the broadcast. He’s wearing his Mysterio costume, but more than that- he’s wearing his Mysterio persona. Peter can see the difference in his face, his eyes. That’s the Beck that Peter trusted, once upon a time.

He’s sitting at a table in a crowded room, cameras flashing every couple of seconds. The murmur in the air comes to an instant stop as Beck leans forward, to the microphone resting before him. He taps on it once, casts a wary look over the crowd, and speaks.

_“There are countless government officials who are about to be extremely unhappy with me, but we’re beyond that point now.”_

An uncertain laughter starts up in the room, but quickly dies at the severe expression on Beck’s face. He appears to take a moment to think before resuming speaking.

_“I was aware of Spider-Man’s identity. I met him once. He helped fight the elementals in Europe. He did the world a great service. But, even then, I remember being struck by how young he was. I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of a teenage superhero, and today’s events have only realized my worst fears.”_

Beck takes another deliberate pause, and the emotion in his face is startlingly genuine. _“Peter Parker was a hero, but he shouldn’t have been. He shouldn’t have had to be one. He should’ve been able to be a normal kid, to graduate high school, to worry about grades and girls instead of life or death situations. He was failed by the adults overseeing him, including his mentor, Tony Stark.”_

There’s an intake of breath in the room, surprised exclamations cutting through the silence. Peter thinks he’s stopped breathing entirely.

 _“He saved lives today,”_ Beck continues, _“and we will forever owe him that debt. Moving forward, the best way to repay that debt is to ensure no child is ever put in his situation ever again.”_ Beck allows a grin to tug at his mouth, but there’s a hard line to it. _“Now, I’m not exactly a native resident of this country. Or planet. Or dimension. So it falls to you. Hold your government accountable. Demand change. I’ll support however and whenever I can, so that Peter’s death isn’t in vain.”_

Beck fixes his gaze directly at the camera. Peter is struck with the inexplicable sense that Beck is looking at him.

_“He seemed a good kid. My condolences to his family.”_

The conference ends. Beck leaves the room to a flurry of questions and flashing cameras, and the broadcast cuts back to the newsroom. More reports come at that point, accompanied by an endless stream of images; the devastated city block, the coast guard boats in the harbor, replayed footage from the fight, a picture of his face. But Peter’s no longer paying attention.

He just barely makes it into the bathroom in time to heave into the toilet.

~*~


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Warnings:** Language, nongraphic discussion of blood/gore, death mention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hey guys, thanks as always for the amazing support! I'm not sure if anyone caught the easter egg but Jenkins (Abner Jenkins) is a classic villain from Spider-Man, The Beetle. He has several wildly varying backstories so I'm just kinda using him sparingly as someone Beck hired to help with the job. There once existed a scene between him and Beck but Jenkins wouldn't make up his mind as far as what kind of person he was so I had to kill it.
> 
> On the plus side, we FINALLY check in with MJ and Ned! I hope you enjoy, please let me know if you do! - Aqua

Chapter Thirteen

~*~

Beck stifles a yawn as he makes his way through the facility, side-stepping piles of unpacked boxes.

It’s late, most of the facility dark and quiet as only those on night shift remain. Being away for the day, Beck can only imagine how busy things were earlier. He’d hoped he could get away with making his public appearance, giving a press conference, and slipping away, but he should’ve known better. 

Sitting through a meeting with Hill and all her best operatives to try and think up ways to catch the new villain was… a little amusing, but ultimately a waste of time. After all, next week Beck will defeat the Beetle in another illusion battle, and that’ll be the end of it. It’s cute to see them try, though. Patrols and surveillance for a villain that doesn’t exist.

It was in his interest to attend, though, because Hill isn’t very happy with him at the moment. That press conference accomplished everything he hoped it would- the government’s taking a lot of heat for enabling a teenage vigilante to operate and Mysterio is doing great in online polls. But, as anticipated, it’s come at the cost of Hill’s favor. If she wasn’t watching him closely before, she sure as hell is now. 

Beck’s not horribly worried about that, though. If she becomes a problem, he’ll deal with her.

But right now, he has more important things to focus on. He hasn’t seen Peter since exposing his identity and faking his death, and he knows it’s not going to be a pretty scene. Amidst all the activity of the past day, he’s only been able to briefly check in on Peter. He’s been hidden away in the bathroom, so that’s a big indicator their talk won’t be pleasant, but Beck knows it won’t help to put it off.

Beck lingers outside Peter’s room for a moment, pulling up the video feed of the inside on his watch. Peter’s out of the bathroom, which is fortunate, sitting on the bed. Now’s as good a time as any.

Beck takes a moment to adopt the proper expression. This is a matter he wants to handle delicately, so he won’t be rubbing this victory in Peter’s face like he might be inclined to usually. So, a more somber manner fits the occasion. Looking properly subdued, he smooths a hand over his hair before walking into the room.

“Hey, Peter,” he greets, his voice carefully neutral.

Peter stares at him. His eyes are bloodshot red and lined with dark circles, harsh highlights on a pale face. Though his expression is blank, it seems several thoughts are clamoring for his attention, his mouth opening and closing mutely in its struggle to find the right words.

“Why did you do it?” he settles on finally. Once again, making sure to get all the information before reacting. It’s impressive he can remain rational under such distress.

Beck is ready for the question. “It gets you out of the picture, and helps establish Mysterio as the next big icon,” he explains mildly. “After I defeat the Beetle, I’ll be known as the hero that avenged Spider-Man.”

Confusion tugs Peter’s brows up into a pinch. “The Beetle?”

“Oh, right.” Beck waves a hand, dismissing his absentmindedness. “That’s what we called the super villain I invented. ‘Cause of the hard-plated armor, and the whole bug theme you had going. Seemed fitting.” Personally, he thinks the name is very clever, but he knows better than to seek accolades from Peter.

Curiously enough, relief flickers across Peter’s face. “So the bad guy was fake.”

Beck pauses. The reasoning comes to him after a moment. Peter might’ve had a hunch that the whole fight was just staged illusions, but his experience battling the fire elemental- and realizing that it was possible to fight the illusions without realizing they were fake- had prevented him from being certain. Watching the fight go down, he hadn’t known if the villain was real- and therefore, if any of the damage was real, if the weapons could really pose a threat, if anyone’s lives were really in danger. Especially with Beck’s track record of collateral damage.

Always thinking of others, that one. Even when it’s his livelihood on the line.

Beck doesn’t comment on it. “Yeah, I had an associate of mine come over and do the voice recordings and motion capture, and then we projected it from the drones. We were able to do the same for you, if you’re wondering,” he adds. “Spliced together our audio recordings of you, and used some footage as a base for the illusion.”

If Peter’s unnerved, he doesn’t show it. “They… on the news, they said they had definitive evidence that Spider-Man was me, and- and that I was dead.” He studies Beck with slight trepidation, as if anticipating he won’t like the answer. “How… did you do that if- if it was an illusion?”

“We collected a blood sample from you when you were unconscious, for the trip over here.” Beck runs through the process with little care, as if reporting the weather. He’s trying lay off being malicious for this conversation. “Cloned the blood cells, pumped them into a cadaver that we rigged to explode in the harbor, wearing a replica Spidey suit. So all they found were bits of human remains with your DNA on it.” He dips his head. “Gory, I know, sorry.”

There’s only the slightest stiffening in Peter’s back to tell Beck he’s uneasy. “Wha- you did that while I was asleep? But I- I didn’t even notice a needle prick, there was no bruise.”

Beck shrugs. “They did it before we left, and you were unconscious for quite a few hours. Spider healing, yeah?”

“… yeah, yeah I guess.” Peter looks down at his forearms, as if he might find the puncture mark upon further inspection. He takes a deep breath. “So… so why go through all this trouble? You’ve been planning this for what, a- a few weeks now?”

“Longer,” Beck answers. “Since I brought you home, pretty much, and had to come up with a plan B.”

Peter’s head snaps up, and Beck can feel the tentative calm between them break. 

“Home? I already _have_ a home!” Peter’s face is twisted with emotion, his scar cutting a haphazard line over his features. “I live in a two-bedroom apartment in Queens with my aunt, _that’s_ my home, my _school,_ I- I go to school with my friends and I do okay even with all the crazy shit that’s been happening, because that’s life, that’s _my_ life, and you _took it from me!”_

By the end of it Peter is shouting, standing before Beck with his fists clenched by his sides. His eyes are wild, a perfect clash of rage and devastation. Beck lets it happen, doesn’t flinch or react at all, simply keeps his expression controlled. He’d be a fool if he expected this to go over well.

Peter’s vigor burns itself out quickly, the way flash paper does. He steps back like he’s been punched, his expression crumpling to match. He’s still breathing raggedly from his outburst. It’s high and shallow, something that’s difficult to listen to. But Beck doesn’t intervene. This is going to be a process, and he has to let Peter work through it if he’s ever going to accept it.

“They all think I’m dead,” Peter whispers after a moment. “Please, May can’t think I’m dead, I- I can’t do that to her, I can’t, _please.”_

“It’s too late for that, Peter,” Beck says, keeping his voice gentle. “I know it hurts, but you’ll understand eventually. At least this way, she has closure, and can move on.”

Peter swallows hard, wrapping his arms around himself in an imitation of a hug. It’s clear he’s in desperate need of comfort, but Beck knows better than to try and give it. It’s not the time for that yet.

“Did… you tell MJ and Ned?” Peter ventures, glancing up at Beck warily.

Beck shakes his head. “They’re smart kids, I’m sure they’ve realized it was all a ruse. Don’t worry.”

“Can you? Please?” Peter winces, averting his gaze again. It’s clearly paining him to ask this. “Please, I… I would feel better if I knew for sure that they knew. Can you tell them?”

Beck tilts his head. Well, it doesn’t hurt to reward good manners, and it’s not like it’d be a huge inconvenience to him. “Alright,” he relents. “I’ll tell them myself.”

“Thank you.” Some of the tension eases from Peter’s shoulders. “I just… can I be alone now?”

“Yeah, alright.” Beck’s said everything that needed to be said, and he knows that giving Peter this will edge him further into the boy’s favor. “I really am sorry, Peter, but it was necessary.”

Peter turns his face away, his shoulders hitching by his ears. Beck decides he’s pushed enough for one day and leaves without another word.

Just to check, he pulls up the video feed of the room as soon as he’s outside. Sure enough, Peter’s barely waited for the door to close before heading into the bathroom. Beck’s learned that means he’s in a state that he doesn’t want Beck to see. He’ll probably be torn up about it for a while- which is understandable.

In the meantime, Beck has a couple of snotty teens to call, another fake battle to plan, and a surprise for Peter to prepare.

And they _still_ aren’t done unpacking.

~*~

MJ is in the middle of skipping third period when she hears the news.

Tucked away in an alcove beneath a stairwell, watching what must be the dozenth Vine compilation she’s watched today, when a sudden flood of texts comes through. The first text she gets is from Ned, telling her Peter’s on the news. MJ has barely finished reading it when more texts come, rapid-fire, from every other classmate who has her number. There’s too many to read, but there’s a common thread in them; Peter, Spider-Man, dead.

Dead.

The stairs catch MJ on the forehead when she jumps to her feet, but she barely feels it. Wind whips through her hair as she sprints though the hallways, driving on auto-pilot to the classroom on the second floor where she knows Ned has English class.

There’s no hesitation as she throws the door open, but the class is already in a state of disarray. Nearly every student is on their phone, in various states of exclamation, disbelief, and horror. Horror because Peter is Spider-Man is dead- _no,_ hold that thought.

She finds Ned easily; he’s crowded by kids who vaguely recall him as being Peter’s friend and suddenly see the value in that, asking him a flurry of questions. It’s disgusting, and MJ stomps through the crowd in a way that tells them so, firmly taking Ned by the arm and walking him away.

“When?” she murmurs, feelings eyes pressing onto her from every direction.

“Like ten minutes ago.” Ned is messing with his phone, pulling up a video. “Look.”

The footage of the fight is jarring in its normalcy. Spider-Man fighting some geared-up baddie, trading quips and saving the day. She sees Peter in each movement so clearly it makes her wonder how it took her so long to put it together. Then she wonders if everyone else around her who knew (knows) Peter is thinking about that too.

It’s a bizarre clash of confusion and relief. All this _Peter-Spider-Man-dead_ nonsense can’t be real, because that can’t really be Peter.

When the mask comes off, MJ’s stomach clenches. It’s Peter, _that’s Peter,_ her heart screams, but her mind knows better. That can’t be Peter, because Peter is being held captive. And she repeats this to herself firmly even as the Peter in the video is blasted into a harbor and explodes.

There are so many voices talking at her, demanding if she knew, but MJ can’t answer them. Some people are crying. Ned’s gaze is pleading but she has no advice to give. The next chaotic hour of teachers trying to get control of the student body passes in a haze.

The other students take her numb shock as proof of her ignorance, which is fortunate because MJ doesn’t think she could lie right now. The truth races through her mind on a loop- _that can’t be Peter because Peter is being held captive._ And she knows, she _knows,_ that if Peter had managed to escape, he wouldn’t casually turn up fighting some villain MJ’s never heard of at a NY charity walk. That’s too normal, too ‘just another day for Spider-Man’ to fit the story. Mysterio wouldn’t conveniently show up to save the day, it’s too perfect.

And, MJ suspects that if Peter escaped, she and Ned would be dead. So there’s that.

The school sends everyone home early. MJ returns to an empty house, unsurprised that Mom couldn’t leave work early. Gayle calls to ask if she and Mom are alright, having seen the story on the news- she always fears that anything happening in New York might’ve somehow affected them.

When MJ explains that they’re both unharmed but Peter was _(is,_ her mind insists stubbornly) a classmate, Gayle offers to drive down from university to see her. MJ declines; it’s going to be hard enough to keep the truth she knows from Mom as it is, and as sisters, Gayle can read MJ better and MJ doesn’t need that right now.

(The drone could be anywhere right now, watching her, and one mistake could kill Peter for real)

The evening passes in a haze. MJ leaves the news on because even if she knows it’s not real, it _can’t_ be real, she doesn’t want to miss anything. Maybe the hoax will be discovered, and then she and Ned will be off the hook because it wouldn’t be their fault.

Of course, no such news comes forth. MJ goes to bed before Mom gets home, wanting to push off the ensuing talk as long as possible.

She wakes up to the news that school is cancelled for the day (due to concern about the villain on the loose), about a hundred more text messages from classmates (now including Flash, who somehow got her number), and a note from Mom on top of a bag of powdered donuts (she left for work before MJ woke up but said she’d call during her lunch break). There’s also the fact that the entire city is in mourning and grief, so MJ stays off the internet.

At one point soon after there’s a knock on the door, and MJ opens it to find Ned. He looks frazzled and is still wearing pajama bottoms. She invites him in for donuts.

“So that definitely wasn’t Peter, right?” Ned’s barely waited for the door to close before talking. “I mean, I know what we saw, it looked super convincing, but we know that’s not him because Mysterio’s got him, right?”

MJ sits cross-legged on the living room floor, holding out the bag of donuts. “Yeah. It had to be another illusion like the elementals.” Just saying the words out loud helps quiet the buzzing in her head.

Ned takes a donut, sitting on the couch beside her. “Awesome, awesome, just checking.” There’s still an underline of tension to his voice and MJ feels it as keenly as her own.

Bright side; they know Peter isn’t dead. But that’s only because they know he’s being held captive by the man everyone thinks is a hero, and they only know that because he’s threatening their lives with sniper drones and twenty-four-hour surveillance.

Worse is thinking about what this means for Peter. When he gets free- and he _will,_ somehow, MJ clings to this thought fiercely- his identity has been revealed. He can’t just go back to being the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. And he’ll have to deal with the fact that he was pronounced dead; that’ll probably be a nightmare to handle as far as social security goes.

“What are you telling people?” MJ asks.

“That I didn’t know.” Ned’s expression is open, searching. “It’s probably safer that way, right? I mean not just for us but so we don’t give anything away for… you know.” He glances around and points a finger up, lowering his voice despite the fact that they’re alone. “Our invisible friend.”

“Don’t call him that,” MJ snaps. Then she feels bad and offers him the bag of donuts, amending, “but yeah, I know what you mean.”

Ned takes the bag. “I think playing along is the safest move, I mean, at least unless we hear anything from-”

_“Hey there, kiddos.”_

MJ knows the voice instantly, and manages not to jump at it. A holographic projection of ‘Mysterio’ is facing her when she turns around, beamed out from a drone that’s hanging in the corner of the room like a particularly overt house spider. The bastard is grinning broadly, which is a slap to the face considering the emotional turmoil MJ’s been suffering for the past day.

She stands up and lifts her chin at him, uncaring if there’s crumbs still clinging to her lip or that her hair is falling out of its messy bun. This is her damn house. “Let us see Peter.”

 _“Straight to business, then, alright.”_ Mysterio chuckles. _“I trust you’ve kept up with the news?”_

“Yeah.” MJ won’t give him the satisfaction of playing into his dramatics. She keeps her voice flat, her expression deadpan. “Clearly the entire thing was staged.”

“Yeah, with your illusion tech,” Ned adds helpfully. “And the drones.”

Mysterio smiles indulgingly, tapping his finger to his temple. _“Nothing gets past you two. Yes, it wasn’t real. Peter’s still here with me, perfectly safe.”_

Despite herself, MJ feels some tension release from her shoulders. It’s one thing to know, but another thing to hear for certain. Those illusions are eerily life-like and it’s hard to combat visual evidence with undemonstrated knowledge.

Beside her, Ned looks similarly relieved. “Uh, Mr. Mysterio,” he ventures, wiping powdered sugar off his cheek, “can we see Peter?”

For the first time, a hint of doubt stains Mysterio’s expression. _“He… wouldn’t want you guys to see him right now,”_ he says after a moment. _“So just take my word for it. Or don’t- it’s no skin off my back, I’m just keeping a promise.”_ He shrugs, quickly recovering his nonchalance.

But MJ’s already seen the crack. “He’s devastated, isn’t he?” she asks quietly. “I mean, you knew he would be, right? You just didn’t care.”

Mysterio’s face hardens. _“We’re getting off topic. Peter’s alive, and if you want him to stay that way, you’re going to play along and make believe he’s dead. Don’t do anything rash, and don’t blow it.”_

MJ’s hands curl into fists, so tight her nails bite into her palms. “Not like we have much choice.”

 _“Right again.”_ Mysterio’s mock praise is curdling, and MJ feels her nose wrinkle. _“You two stay out of trouble, now.”_

The projection vanishes, and the drone in the corner disappears from view, cloaking itself once again. MJ can almost feel it staring at her, still, and the sensation sends shivers down her spine.

She lets out a shaky breath and sinks to the floor again, tucking her knees to her chest. “I hate this.”

Ned shifts in his seat. “You’ve been skipping class a lot, you know.” 

The sudden change in topic is jolting. MJ whips her head around. “What does that have to do with anything?” she demands, brows furrowing together.

“I dunno.” Ned lifts his hands up, one of them still pinching a donut. “I’m just saying. I’m worried about you.”

MJ bristles. “We can’t all go about our daily lives acting like our best friend wasn’t kidnapped by a psychopath.”

Ned looks hurt. “What else can we do?”

The question extinguishes MJ’s anger instantly. He’s right. There’s nothing they can do but wait, and hope, that Peter will be okay. Maybe even wait for an opportunity to help- the Avengers are sparse today but MJ is certain Mysterio can’t go unnoticed for long.

So objectively, she knows, there’s no point to her self-destruction. Skipping class and freezing people out and trying to occupy her mind with anything and everything that doesn’t matter. So why does she do it?

“I… don’t like the way they look at me,” MJ admits after a moment, glancing away. “Since he disappeared. Even before this Spider-Man thing, when they thought he was just a normal kid who went missing the way… normal kids do. I guess people think we were a thing. Or, we were about to be.” Her throat tightens. “I don’t care what people think but the way they treat me is another thing.”

Ned is quiet for a moment. “The only reason I can pretend everything’s normal is because… I guess, in a way, I’m sorta hoping if I pretend hard enough and long enough, things can be normal again.” His voice is tentative, as if he’s only just now piecing it all together. “I’m… trying to keep things normal, for when Peter gets back.”

 _When._ Not if.

MJ stares at Ned. Ned stares at MJ.

He offers her a donut.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Did you know that Mary Jane Watson has an older sister? Because I didn't, but I'm gonna borrow her for MJ. - Aqua


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** mild language, rude gesture, brief mention of dark themes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hi everyone, thanks for your patience! I ended up holding this chapter til today because posting late at night didn't bode well last week XD I hope you guys enjoyed MJ and Ned's long-awaited POV? Between this chapter and the last one, I did a LOT of planning on this story and I'm SUPER EXCITED about what's to come!
> 
> If you're still reading and enjoying this story then please let me know! Every little bit helps <3 - Aqua

Chapter Fourteen

~*~

Peter falls onto his bed with a huff, the cell door locking behind him.

As much as he appreciates getting his daily exercise, it always ends too soon. He longs more and more for the days he could swing to his heart’s content, perfectly at home among the skyscrapers of New York, a lone dot of color against the flat, gray urban jungle.

And he’s really getting tired of Beck watching him. That unreadable glimmer in his eyes as he tracks Peter’s movements through the exercise room- which, small mercies, is a lot roomier than the one he used back at the old base, but it’s still just an empty box. Beck cared enough to install some objects for Peter to swing and vault off of, large columns and platforms and things, but that’s it. The monotonous nature of it all makes Peter feel like a lab rat, running in a wheel under the steely gaze of a scientist.

But he needs it too much to refuse it. Even if its barely enough to keep the itch of frantic energy inside him at bay. He still finds himself pacing often to work it off, unable to lay still. But really, his alternatives aren’t great. Sit in an empty room doing nothing, or sleep- where he’s liable to be plagued by nightmares.

The pacing is preferable.

Peter rolls over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. It’s getting harder and harder not to dwell on the hopelessness of his situation, after Beck exposed his identity and staged his death. This morning, Peter stayed in the shower until the water ran cold, if only to have the sensation of falling water to focus on and occupy his wandering thoughts.

_“Hello, Peter.”_

Peter startles badly at the sudden sound, bolting upright with a shout. “God, what?!”

It’s come from the security drone in the corner of the cell. There’s no accompanying projection, no further speaking. Peter eyes it warily as he tries to pinpoint the voice. It sounded male, but not Beck. And there was a sort of AI quality to it, but not Edith.

“Hello…?” Peter tries hesitantly. “Who’s this?”

The drone answers readily. _“I am Herod, a specialized branch of Edith created to entertain you.”_

“Entertainment?” Peter’s surprise quickly morphs into confusion. “What the hell?”

 _“I am equipped with a virtually endless database of movies, television shows, music, and internet videos,”_ Herod explains. _“Please be aware that there is a parental lock active and you will be blocked from explicit media.”_

That’s even more absurd than the concept of a virtual assistant in a prison cell is in the first place. “Explicit- oh, _come on,_ what?”

_“Explicit media includes rated R movies that contain adult content such as mature language, violence, gore, pornography-”_

“Yeah- yeah, I get it, thank you!” Peter interrupts, feeling his cheeks heat up despite himself. There’s an insulting quality to it- according to Beck, Peter’s not too young to attack, capture, and keep prisoner in a secret base, but he is too young to watch a horror movie. He huffs a sigh. “I’ll be seventeen soon, man…” he adds sullenly, tucking his knees to his chest.

_“Would you like me to set a reminder?”_

Peter blinks at the offer. “I… oh, uh… sure?” Admittedly, it’s been hard for him to keep track of the days, unless he gets to see a news broadcast. And he’s certainly not thinking about his birthday when he watches those. “Um, my birthday is August 27th?”

_“Reminder set for ‘my birthday’ on August 27th.”_

“Thanks…” Peter rubs the back of his neck, almost a little uncomfortable.

It’s weird. It’s extremely weird, to have something like this after being forced to live in a bare room with nothing to occupy himself except thirty minutes of exercise a day and the occasional depressing news report. The prospect of having this much suddenly available to him is almost overwhelming. Something as simple as being able to hear music again… it’s enough to make him tear up.

But Peter _knows_ what this is about. Beck’s just ruined his life, and this is a consolation gift. An illusion of comfort, as if Beck is on his side, as if Beck _feels_ for him and isn’t the one who did it. And worse, this will just be another thing Beck can hold against him. Another thing Beck can take away if Peter doesn’t behave the way he wants.

For that reason alone, Peter wants nothing to do with it. It’ll hurt to lose it if he lets himself get attached.

_“Would you like me to play something for you, Peter?”_

What a sense of timing. Peter swallows and looks away. “No- no thanks, I’m good, I…” He hesitates. 

It’s been _so long_ since he’s heard music. He’s become hyperaware of the tiniest sounds of himself, his breathing, his footsteps, his heart’s steady tempo inside his chest. Something, _anything,_ to break up that static would be huge. Can’t he just… let himself have this?

It’s not like Beck would be winning anything. If Peter can take advantage of this while not losing sight of Beck’s real intentions, then he’s not at any more risk than normal. Don’t get too attached to it, don’t let Beck use it against him, but enjoy it while he can.

And Peter thinks he has just the thing.

“Actually,” he decides, “uh… can- can you play… AC/DC?”

_“Playing database collection of music by AC/DC.”_

The strumming of an electric guitar fills the room, and goosebumps erupt across Peter’s skin. For a moment, he’s frozen by the surge of emotion that swells inside him. Dead neurons, shriveled from lack of stimulation over these past weeks, seem to be reborn and forge new connections in his brain like rivers bursting from a dam, setting his mind buzzing from the sensation.

_“Back in black, I hit the sack, I've been too long I'm glad to be back…”_

The singer launches into his song with all the subtlety of a lightning bolt. That gritty screech of classic rock connects with something deep in Peter’s core, and a grin splits across his face. He flops back onto his bed, unable to hold back a laugh. Maybe it sounds a bit too close to hysterical, but he doesn’t care.

AC/DC. Tony’s favorite. 

A small rebellion, but it’s all Peter’s got.

~*~

Beck turns away from Peter’s room, grinning to himself.

He can’t wait to see the kid’s reaction to Herod. A decent amount of coding went into that program- setting up the controls, ensuring Peter can’t somehow access the internet from it, or find a workaround by leaving comments or reviews on anything Herod plays for him.

Hopefully this will help with that twitchiness. At least Peter can’t say Beck never gave him anything.

Beck’s about to pull up the view of Peter’s room when a voice calls him over from down the hallway.

“Hey Beck, got a moment?”

It’s coming from the surveillance hall, and- ah yes, that’s right, he’ll need to check in with them after spending the last thirty minutes supervising Peter. He walks over briskly, his gaze sweeping across the wide collection of monitors taking up the wall. Traffic cameras, commercial security cameras, laptop webcams, all images cycling through at rapid speed as Edith scans them for threats and flags them for review.

The people sitting at these desks all look up and greet Beck as he approaches before turning back to their task- save for Louise, the woman who called him over. In front of her are a couple of screens that are stagnant, frozen on an image.

Beck leans over the side of her chair to study the screens. “What do we got?”

Louise adjusts her glasses and points at the first one. “Five suspects planning a bank robbery, set date two weeks from now.”

Beck clicks his tongue, examining the men in the picture. “Hm, two weeks? Should be fine leaving an anonymous tip and letting the police handle it,” he decides. “What else?”

Louise points at another screen, this one paused on security footage of a man entering an apartment. “I think this man is planning a kidnapping,” she says lowly. “Edith flagged him for repeated drives by a local elementary school, not dropping off or picking up. Not a teacher. So we did a sweep and his internet history provided some… strong evidence.”

It’s clear from her expression and tone of voice that Louise is disturbed by what she saw. And Beck’s people don’t disturb easily- after all, they wouldn’t be in this line of work if they did.

Beck feels his lip curl. “Targeted drone strike, staged as a gas explosion. I don’t want any other casualties, so make sure it’s done when he’s alone.”

Louise nods, her face made of steel. “It’ll be done.”

Beck puts a hand on her shoulder. “Once Edith has a bit more practice identifying risky human behaviors, this process can be fully automated,” he says gently. “She’ll take care of everything for us.”

And man, won’t that be the dream? He can focus on his career as humanity’s next great hero while Edith works in the background, taking care of actual threats for him. Other than natural disasters, the only major devastations taking place will be ones orchestrated entirely by him. If he had any more control over the world, he’d be a god.

And not the kind with long blonde hair and a magic hammer.

Louise nods again, an appreciative glimmer softening her eyes this time. “Right. Thanks.”

Beck smiles. “Keep up the good work. All of you,” he adds, lifting his voice to address the others.

He gets smiles in return, and satisfaction pools inside him. The nature of his operation has really made him appreciate having a good team behind him. They really are a special group of people; after all, it’s not just _anyone_ who will agree to try and scam the entire world with a fake superhero.

It’d be crazy if they didn’t execute so well. Spite is a motivator like nothing else, and Beck has selected his team carefully with this in mind. Everyone here has a personal reason to see this ploy be successful. Not against Stark, necessarily. It might be SHIELD, or another Avenger, or even just the government for its irresponsibility and nonaction regarding enhanced individuals.

Brought together for a common goal, they’ve accomplished incredible things. Sure, Edith was Stark’s creation, but everything else? That’s on them. It was them who figured out how to use Edith as a worldwide security threat monitor, and stage the illusions, and use Spider-Man to further their agenda. And to get away with it all under the scrutiny of Hill and the entire U.S. government.

The only reason that brilliant, powerful kid is locked up here is because Beck was clever enough to design a trap he can’t break out of. And speaking of, it’s time to check on Peter and see how he likes his new-

The walls begin to shake. Vibrations hum through the floor beneath his feet. Beck is immediately on guard, ordering Edith to give a status report. However, there’s no breach in security, nothing under attack.

Before he can investigate further, something strikes him. The vibrations almost sound like… a beat. 

A sneaky suspicion comes to mind. Beck lifts his wrist. “Edith, show me Peter’s room.”

The projection comes up from his watch. With Edith tapping into Herod’s mic, Beck can hear the noise more clearly now. It’s an old rock song, some classic thing Beck can only vaguely recall hearing on the radio during his childhood.

Peter’s laying on his bed, eyes closed and a contented smile on his face as the music blares around him, turned up to the highest volume. It’s a surprisingly heartwarming sight- if a bit odd. Beck wouldn’t have pegged Peter as a hard rock fan, especially for his age.

Oh well, different strokes.

“Edith,” Beck says, “tell Herod to lower maximum volume by ten percent.”

_“Of course.”_

The music drops in volume, enough to at least stop the walls shaking. As Beck watches, Peter seems to laugh to himself before holding a middle finger up to Herod’s camera. Beck barks out a laugh of his own, amused by the gesture.

“Teenagers and their loud music, am I right?” Beck jokes to the room. He closes the feed and waves a hand. “As you were, folks.”

He leaves in considerably higher spirits. Once he ‘defeats’ the Beetle, Phase Two will be complete, and his status as the new defender of earth will be solidified. And all in all, Peter is coping with it well. Whether he knows it or not, he’s reacting positively to Beck’s efforts.

As fun as it can be to antagonize him, Beck knows that he’ll get a lot more mileage out of a different tune. And as Virgil _so helpfully demonstrated,_ Peter will gravitate towards even the smallest bit of kindness shown to him. He’ll have to, just to keep his sanity in this harsh new existence Beck’s created for him.

And once Beck’s won him over? The possibilities are endless.

There’s a lot to look forward to.

~*~


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** self-depreciation, nondescriptive simulated depiction of suicide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hi readers, thanks for your patience! As I said on my Tumblr, I was sick the weekend of my scheduled update, and missed my window to update before things started getting crazy with school. As it stands, this will probably be the last chapter I can get out before the end of the semester, because final exams are right around the corner. Hopefully you don’t mind the wait!
> 
> Thank you as always for everyone who takes the time to leave a comment, or send me a message on Tumblr. It never fails to brighten my day, and renew my love and motivation for this story. Keep it up! - Aqua

Chapter Fifteen

~*~

_“I… sad.”_

_“Is that your official statement? ‘I sad?’”_

Peter snorts. Admittedly, he didn’t think a workplace comedy would hold much appeal for him, but Parks and Recreation is shaping up to be one of his new favorite shows. It’s a little weird watching TV from Herod’s projector, as an image playing on the wall of his cell, but he’s quickly gotten used to it.

A meagre upside is that with all this downtime, he’s finally getting a chance to watch the shows that he keeps telling people he’ll watch. The phrase, ‘Oh yeah, I’ve heard it’s good, gotta watch that!’ has become part of his normal vocabulary at this point. He wonders if his classmates have now realized that the reason is because he was always busy being Spider-Man, and not because he lives under a rock.

Thinking about what his classmates must be thinking about him is… odd, to say the least. He spent so long keeping his identity a secret. During that time, he must’ve come up with a million different scenarios for how people would react if he was exposed. It’s strange not to be able to see it, the reaction to his reveal by the people who know him.

Of course, wondering how they’re handling his supposed death is another point entirely. It’s a relief knowing that Beck spoke with Ned and MJ about it, so at least they know for sure he’s not dead. But everyone else? 

He’s not really a popular kid. Maybe a bit infamous around the school for one reason or another. But he knows how many of them idolize Spider-Man. There’s a special sort of connection that can form, with a local hero. He’s saved countless classmates from danger more than a few times- out of control cars, convenience store hold-ups, muggers. Even as his presence along the New York skyline became familiar, a sighting would always be accompanied with an excited post on Instagram and hundreds of comments. Other than the odd tabloid writer or cynical journalist, the city really seemed to support him.

Peter’s vision blurs, and he abruptly realizes he’s been spacing out for the past minute. He quickly wipes at his eyes. “Herod, could you rewind a bit?” he asks. He needs to stop thinking so much, it defeats the purpose of mindless binge-watching…

“Knock knock.” The door opens, Beck speaking as he enters- making his words redundant. “Hey Peter, got a minute to chat?”

Peter blinks at the man, studying him. He’s dressed in that base suit he was wearing at the trainyard, the one that acts as a foundation for his illusions. It immediately sets Peter on edge, his heartrate speeding up.

“Sure,” he says carefully. “Herod, pause.”

The projection freezes on the wall, leaving the two of them in silence. Beck seems to note his uneasiness, chuckling to himself.

“Oh, don’t worry, this isn’t for you,” Beck says, gesturing to his outfit. “And it’s not why I’m here.”

Peter only relaxes slightly. “Okay. Why are you here, then?”

“To ease your mind,” Beck answers, looking rather pleased with himself. “I know you’ve been worrying about your aunt and how she’s handling everything, so I took it upon myself to _personally_ check in on her. With a drone.”

It takes a second to process what Beck’s saying. Peter jumps up from the bed, his stomach lurching. “Wha- no, _no,_ I don’t want you spying on May!” he protests.

“Sorry.” Beck raises his hands. “I just thought you’d like to know how she’s doing.”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise. “Well yeah, but not by you spying on her!”

“So… you don’t want to hear what I have to say?” Beck prompts, raising an eyebrow.

Peter hesitates. His first instinct is to refuse, wanting nothing to do with Beck’s underhanded spying. It’s bad enough that Ned and MJ are subjected to it, twenty-four-seven. He personally hates the feeling of being watched every second, and knows it must be the same for them. And sure, maybe May doesn’t know, but that doesn’t make it okay. Beck shouldn’t be invading her privacy.

But at the same time… it’s been so long. Peter can’t stop thinking about how this all must be affecting her, worrying about how she’s doing now that she thinks he’s dead. And Beck already did it, so it’s not like Peter would be accomplishing anything by not listening to him.

“How… how _is_ she doing?” he relents finally, pushing down a surge of guilt.

Beck nods, satisfied. “As expected, it’s been rough. She only just now got settled in-”

“Settled in?” Peter interrupts, furrowing his brows. “Wh- what do you mean ‘settled in,’ what- where is she?”

“Well,” Beck says patiently, “with your name out there it wasn’t hard for people to find her, and the harassment got too bad for her to stay. Hill and Mrs. Stark both offered her a place, but she ended up moving in with that guy she’s seeing.” He frowns. “What’s his name, Jolly?”

Peter’s throat is dry. “Happy.”

“That’s the one.” Beck snaps his fingers. “Seems like a nice guy. He’s really been stepping up for her.”

Peter swallows, blinking at the floor. It’s not hard to imagine what people are harassing May for. With the way Beck spun the tragedy of Peter Parker, they must hold her at fault for allowing him to be Spider-Man. As if he didn’t hide it from her for months, and the only reason she found out at all was through his own carelessness. Like he didn’t lie to her, and sneak around, and betray her trust. Like she should’ve done something about it, despite him doing everything in his power to keep it from her.

Guilt and shame aren’t strong enough words to describe what Peter’s feeling. All that stress his lifestyle brought her, and even now after his ‘death’, he’s still causing her grief. Only a week has passed, and she’s already had to leave her home- _their_ home. They’re going after May for being a bad parent, when they _should_ be dismissing Peter as a bad kid.

She did the best she could- he didn’t make it easy for her.

“I know, Peter,” Beck says gently.

Peter abruptly realizes he must’ve accidentally spoken out loud. His face heats up, and he turns away. “A- anything else?” he asks, pointedly moving on.

Beck allows it. “She’s on leave from work, indefinitely. And she’s in counseling.”

Peter flinches. “Okay.”

It’s good that she’s getting help, but it hurts to think she has to in the first place. All because of him. After Ben, he was all she had and now she thinks she’s lost him, too. He’s put her through so much…

“That’s about it,” Beck continues, bringing Peter’s focus back to the conversation. “If there anything specific you wanted me to…?”

“No,” Peter says quickly. “No, I just… leave her alone, okay? I’m… it’s good to know how she’s doing, but not by you spying on her.”

“Alright.” Beck shrugs. “Well, I’m off to go avenge your death. Channel 5 News- if you want to watch it, let Herod know. Someone else will be in with your dinner.”

That sends a wave of surprise through Peter. Realistically, he’s known that Beck must be planning on defeating the villain he created, to further solidify Mysterio’s role as the next great hero. But what’s surprising is that Beck’s giving him the option to watch it happen, unlike the times before when Peter didn’t have a choice.

“Okay,” Peter murmurs, folding his arms and glancing away. This entire interaction has left him confused and upset. Beck’s changing his game, and Peter doesn’t like it. It’s getting harder to predict what he’s going to do, which is never a good place to be.

“See you later, then,” Beck offers, before leaving the room.

Peter doesn’t reply. That’s too casual for his liking. Once alone again- or, as alone as he _can_ be in this place- he drops onto the bed with a sigh. Right now, he’s in dire need of a distraction.

“Herod, resume playing?”

The show starts back up, the last chords of the theme song playing out. Peter settles against the headboard, resolving to shove the conversation to the back of his mind.

But as the minutes stretch into hours, Peter’s thoughts wander. He finds himself wondering how Beck’s going to go about it. If he’s going to make some disgustingly sentimental speech in Peter’s honor, or get straight to business. If any bystanders are going to get hurt. And with that thought, Peter knows he can’t leave it to his imagination any longer.

“Hey, Herod? Can… can you please turn on Channel 5 News?”

_“Of course, Peter.”_

~*~

Static washes down the television in waves, rifling through colored pixels like a gust in a field of wildflowers.

Maxwell Dillon can feel it from here, laid back in his easy chair. The old piece of junk is several decades old at this point, but he likes feeling the static. Those fancy new flatscreens just aren’t the same.

Light from the curved screen flickers across the dark room as the image shifts- a man in golden armor and a cape flies through the air, locked in combat with a fully suited metal man. Maxwell doesn’t keep up with the news too much, but this one’s fame is unavoidable; Mysterio, they call him. The next great protector of earth.

The headlines crawling along the bottom of the scene declare the other man as the Beetle, some new villain who caused a ruckus the other week. Killed… someone. Maxwell isn’t sure who, but it seems a big deal.

He watches as Mysterio blasts the Beetle with another attack, that strange green energy coming from his hands. It doesn’t look like anything Maxwell’s seen before, but supposedly, Mysterio isn’t from earth. Or… was it that he’s from earth, but in the future? An alternate dimension? It’s getting hard to keep up with these crazy backstories.

There’s always another guy in line, isn’t there? Some new hotshot to take over the press for a few years, show his mug at every natural disaster and evil plot. He’ll risk his life time and time again to save the day, survive by the skin of his teeth. Maybe he’ll try to quit, get himself a girl, settle down- but he’ll always get back in the fight. Until the day he meets his match, and his luck runs out. And the world is reminded that he’s still human, and humans die.

Then the next one will emerge from the sidelines, and the cycle repeats.

Maxwell shakes his head, grabbing another handful of peanuts and tossing them into his mouth. They fry beneath his teeth, dissipating in a burst of electricity.

What a gig. You spend your best years fighting the world’s battles. Suffering unimaginable pain and loss. Making the ultimate sacrifices. And when you’re gone, the world will mourn you- up until the next guy takes your place. People are fickle things, Maxwell knows. They’d rather have someone to idolize than someone to mourn. They like to feel safe, protected, like someone’s in their corner. But their gratitude will only last so long. Once your service is done, they’ll move on.

It seems a shame, and a hassle. A real pity, that all those extraordinary folks wasted their talents on an ever-moving world. Nothing left to their testament except an exhibit in a history museum. A scholarship program at a local college. Out of production trading cards and action figures, to sell to the highest bidder on E-bay.

The only one who will live long enough to make an ever-lasting change on this world didn’t care enough to stick around. Well, that’s fine by Maxwell. Even a demigod isn’t _truly_ immortal.

Not the way Maxwell is.

Imagine a hero who can never die. A hero who never ages, never tires, never ails in the way humans do. A hero with the appearance of a human, but electricity running beneath the surface instead of blood. An intelligent being made up of charged particles instead of flesh, but still capable of the most important human things. Critical thinking, theoreticals, reasoning, empathy. Emotion.

A hero like that could rule forever, to an endlessly adoring world.

Maxwell doesn’t have to imagine it; he _is_ it. Being born on the cusp of the electrical revolution in this country gives him a… unique perspective on today’s technology. Safety standards are much better now than when he was growing up. The chances of a factory worker getting caught in a live electrical field and electrocuted to death are next to none.

Good thing, too, because the chances of that worker being transformed into a being of pure energy are even more slim. Astronomically so. A real freak accident of the universe.

But only now is Maxwell starting to consider there might be a purpose to it, after all. He’s been sitting idly in an ever-moving world since 1930, trying to make himself fit into it. He can’t stick at a job for more than a couple years, because eventually people will notice he hasn’t aged a day. Relationships don’t last long either. Or, just connecting with people in general. What’s the point, when they’re just going to grow old and die?

But this. This could be something. The technology of this era presents unparalleled opportunity for him, virtually limitless power. He’ll be able to protect the world like no one else, in ways no one has ever seen or imagined before. 

Better than this flashy hotshot with his green light show and stupid cape. Once he’s out of the picture, there’ll be nothing standing in Maxwell’s way.

On the television, Mysterio’s got the Beetle pinned down, his arm cannons and rocket launcher ruined beyond use. For a moment, Maxwell thinks he’ll actually get this one to prison- and then the Beetle presses a button on his suit, which begins to flash red.

Mysterio dives out of the way as the Beetle self-destructs, screams from bystanders piercing through the explosion.

Maxwell finds himself grinning. It’s awfully convenient, isn’t it? Thus far, Mysterio hasn’t actually come away from a fight with a defeated, but living, foe. The element monsters were destroyed, just like the Beetle. And Mysterio’s been in the news pretty regularly with some smaller saves- rescuing people from runaway trains and crumbling bridges and the like, but there was no one to fight there.

Well. If Mysterio fancies himself a hero, Maxwell will give him someone to fight. Then he’ll _really_ see what Mysterio’s made of.

And after? 

Maxwell will finally show the world what _he’s_ made of.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** In case anyone's confused, this chapter introduces my version of one of Spider-Man's iconic villains, Electro! I've decided he was a factory worker in the 1930's who had a horrible accident that turned him into an immortal being of pure electricity. He's just been drifting through life since then, but Mysterio's recent heroics may have unintentionally inspired something in him...
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, **please leave a comment** if you did, and I'll see you next time after the semester's over! - Aqua


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** Minor language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hello readers, and happy New Year! I hope you all enjoyed/are enjoying your holiday break, thanks for all the well wishes regarding school. I'm very excited to bring you this chapter and everything else I have planned, I hope you enjoy and **please don't forget to leave a comment** if you do!
> 
> Now uh, _I made a mistake_ regarding the timeline. FFH was set in the summer.... and I had MJ and Ned at school. WHOOPS. So I've decided that they're just taking remedial summer classes because they were blipped and needed to catch up on stuff. _Forgive my scatter-brain._ But speaking of timeline, I've been playing real loose with it because we don't know the _exact_ time frame of the movie (what day it starts, how many days pass total) but by my estimations, the time in the fic is currently around the second week of August. So there's that!
> 
> Thanks as always for your patience and continued support. On with the show! - Aqua

Chapter Sixteen

~*~

Peter arcs through the air to land softly along a pillar, his bare feet clinging to its side.

Craning his head, he takes another look around the exercise room, trying to plot his next course. There are two other pillars within jumping distance, with a high shelf adjacent to the farther one. That’d be good to practice his diving from, see how far he can let himself fall before pulling up with a web swing. Mix things up a little.

He’s trying hard not to get too complacent in his routine. It’s been a week since the fake villain, the Beetle, was publicly defeated by Mysterio. Since then, things have been… quiet. Despite having a lot of ‘hero business’ to attend to, Beck sees Peter regularly. If not by bringing him meals, then by supervising his exercise time. And he’s in a better mood these days, more relaxed and well-tempered. He doesn’t pick at Peter, doesn’t taunt him or make threats. Just makes casual chatter before leaving him alone again.

Peter is still cautious, though. It could all be some kind of ploy to mess with his head, or try to sway him to Beck’s side. The peaceful period could end any day, if Beck gets a whim to launch another fake attack that kills hundreds of innocent people. Hell, he could’ve already done that and just kept it from Peter this time, for all he knows. But he’s felt a lot less stressed lately and he’s not about to be the one to change that.

So for the time being, he’ll go along with it. It’s the sensible thing to do.

“That’s time!” Beck calls from below. “Come on down.”

Peter sighs, cursing his wandering mind. It always sneaks up on him, how quickly these sessions go. Tensing, he springs off the pillar in a backflip, landing on the ground in a crouch. As he straightens up, Beck gives an impressed whistle.

“So, did you know how to do all that flip stuff before?” Beck asks. “Did you do like, gymnastics as a kid, or…?”

“Wha- no, no none of that.” Peter shakes his head, coming to a stop before Beck. “I was actually one of the clumsiest, most uncoordinated kids out there. And it wasn’t for lack of trying, I mean, I really wanted to be one of those sporty guys. Summer before freshman year, I spent like six hours a day at the park practicing for football tryouts and it just… didn’t work out.”

Beck looks nonplussed. “Huh. So you get spider powers, and suddenly, _wham.”_ He fans his hands out. “You’re like a stunt man extraordinaire?”

Peter blinks, taken aback. “I… guess so, yeah.”

“Did it come naturally or did you have to practice?”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise. “Some of it did. Like uh, the flipping and free running and parkour, that- that all was more or less second nature. Like, instinctual, y’know? But the swinging came later, and I had to work at it.”

Quite painstakingly, he might add. The memories of his early trials flood his mind, and he feels his cheeks heat up. So many faceplants into the sides of buildings…

“What made you do that, anyways? The swinging? I’ve never seen or heard of a superhero getting around like that.” An amused look comes into Beck’s eye. “Was it just for the spider theme?”

Peter snorts. “No, come on. I mean, living in a city like Queens, there’s not a lot of free space… horizontally. There’s more room if- if you go vertical. So I could either learn to fly, or go for something more attainable.”

“The webshooters.” Beck flicks his wrist, miming the action of webshooting. “Alright, but the idea of webs, _specifically,_ was because of the theme, right?” he prods, grinning.

“Maybe,” Peter admits, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. Absently, he rubs at his wrist. “It just made sense. A flexible, strong, sticky rope you could swing with would work for getting around and trapping bad guys, saving people… it made sense.”

“What’s it made out of?” Beck asks, a keen glint in his eyes. “It’s a unique material, strong as you said but dissolves on its own within a few hours. That’s smart, eliminates the need for cleanup.”

“A nylon derivative, my own design.” Peter glances down to hide his pleased smile. Sure, it’s Beck, but there aren’t many people he can talk about this stuff with, and even fewer who would appreciate it. “It took a lot of trial and error. Not as strong as real spider silk, but pretty close, and it’s sticky enough. I mean, I was already sticky, after the bite, so I figured I could work with it.”

“I noticed that,” Beck says. “You can stick to walls without your webshooters. Even with gloves and shoes on.”

It takes Peter a moment to remember where Beck might’ve seen that; when he first woke up in the cell, wearing his stealth suit. “Only if it’s a suit of mine. They’re specially made to let the, uh… stickiness seep through.” And Peter doesn’t really want to go into detail about how long _that_ took to work out.

Beck raises his eyebrows. “You can control it?”

“Yeah. Not so good at first, though,” Peter admits. He’s about to recount the memory of the first time he woke up with his sheets stuck to his hands, but it abruptly occurs to him that this is probably the most he’s ever said to Beck in one sitting, voluntarily.

“Hey, why all the questions, anyways?” he demands instead, kicking himself for only now remembering to be wary. Even though it seems harmless, he can never tell what game Beck might be playing.

Beck holds his hands up. “Genuine curiosity, I swear,” he promises, looking perfectly earnest. “You know, I kept up with your antics before the blip. I kept up with all superhero news, of course, but I remember even back then thinking there was something more to you.”

Peter isn’t quite sure how to respond to that. But the statement does bring a sudden thought to his mind. “Did you blip?”

Beck doesn’t protest the change of topic. “No. Whether or not I was one of the lucky ones depends on who you ask, but I wouldn’t change it.” He studies Peter for a moment. “It would’ve been weird to have met you before, see you come back five years later looking not a single day older.”

Peter can imagine. It would’ve been like what Tony probably felt, to see Peter looking entirely unchanged after five years. There’s so much he didn’t get a chance to talk to Tony about, after the blip, and he feels the ache of it deep in his chest.

Peter fidgets with his web shooter. “You didn’t have anyone… anyone important who blipped?” he ventures carefully.

Beck doesn’t blink. “Don’t really have a family,” he answers simply. “Not anymore. Unless you count my crew, and well, other than a couple recent hires, none of them blipped. That’s actually when we started working together. That’s where this,” he spreads his hands, gesturing vaguely around them, “all started.”

Peter rubs the back of his neck. “I guess I’m lucky my aunt and my friends blipped, too.” Really, if the only weird thing he had to deal with was Happy’s ‘blip beard’, that’s not a bad deal. Not like people whose siblings or parents blipped without them, or the other way around.

“Mmm.” Beck looks thoughtful. “If you could’ve chosen to stay, instead of being blipped, would you have taken it? Even if you knew you’d come back?”

Peter falters. “I…” 

It’s a difficult question. Peter can’t deny it hasn’t crossed his thoughts before- what would he have done if he hadn’t blipped? Would he have been able to help find a solution sooner? Would he have kept being a hero? Or would he have turned closed off and bitter? According to Dr. Strange, there are unlimited realities where all these possibilities and more have happened. Not theoretical, but actually physically happened.

But if Peter had the choice? Would he have chosen to stay, to keep living and growing while May and his friends disappeared, knowing he’d be older than the Peter they remembered? Knowing it would’ve ruined his chances with MJ? (At least until they were both much older, experienced adults). Knowing May would’ve come back to a Peter who had finished growing up without her?

But at the same time… having five more years with Tony. Maybe even finding a way for them to save the world without Tony dying. Sacrificing the last years of his childhood for the greater good- that’s the answer a real hero would choose.

And instantly, Peter knows in his heart he wouldn’t have chosen it.

The guilt and shame of the realization sinks into him like claws. What happened to, _‘with great power, comes great responsibility?’_ It’s exactly what Fury was trying to get through his head, that because he has these powers, he has to be better, be _more_ than just some kid from Queens. But he’s been selfish, wanting to ignore his duty to the world in favor of something as unimportant as a class trip- what would Tony think of him? Tony, who made the ultimate sacrifice for the world, and Peter can’t even properly honor that with his own actions.

And sure, Peter _tried_ to make it right by exposing Beck to Fury instead of turning a blind eye. But all the good intent in the world means nothing if he can’t even follow through. He failed, and people died, and it never would’ve happened in the first place if Peter had been better.

He turns away from Beck, harshly wiping at his eyes. His lack of response must be a pretty clear answer in and of itself, because Beck sighs.

“I don’t think you’re selfish for being grateful it happened the way it did,” Beck says plainly. “I’ve heard what the blip did to families. Couples. And those were five very difficult years. It… must’ve been easier, in some ways, to just… close your eyes. Wake up, and barely any time has passed for you. Returning to a saved world, one that’s picking itself back up and adjusting to its new normal.”

Beck’s voice is almost… sympathetic. But not pitying. Not judging. And for once, there’s no hidden layer to it, no secret ulterior motive like he’s trying to pick at Peter’s brain. It’s… a nice change of pace. Even if it’s Beck.

Peter’s throat is tight. “Y- yeah, I… I guess so. But, uh…” He takes a deep breath, blinking away tears. He’s _not_ going to cry in front of Beck. “But a hero’s not supposed to take the easy way out.”

Beck shrugs. “Isn’t that what Captain America did, though?” he asks, tilting his head. “Left everything and everyone behind to get his happy ending?”

Peter flinches. “That’s different.” It sounds weak, even to his own ears, so he pushes on. “He did so much for the world.”

“And you haven’t?” Beck asks softly. “You’re a kid. And the things that’ve been asked of you lately weren’t fair to you.”

Peter presses the heels of his palms against his burning eyes, huffing a dry laugh. It’s ridiculous, to get validation from his captor. It’s even more ridiculous that he actually appreciates hearing it. “That’s a loaded sentence, coming from you,” he says, but it’s hollow, lacking any venom he might’ve put into it.

“Well, sure,” Beck amends. “But I’m not really the good guy here, am I? This,” he gestures around them at the room- and in a larger sense, Peter’s prison, “isn’t fair to you. But it was better than the other option.”

Peter swallows. That’s something they can both agree on. “Why… _did_ you spare me?” he asks quietly. “You’ve gone through so much trouble to keep me alive and trapped, with the cell and the drones and- and- and even staging my death. It would’ve been easier to kill me.”

“Yeah, probably,” Beck agrees, surprising Peter. “I didn’t understand it at first either. But what I do understand is that you’re unlike anyone else on this planet, and it would’ve been a real shame for it to lose you.”

The compliment combined with the serious look Beck’s giving him makes Peter uncomfortable. He forces a laugh. “What, because I- because I had the random misfortune of being bitten by a radioactive spider? I’m sure given the right circumstances, that could’ve happened to anyone else.”

“Well yeah, sure, but they wouldn’t have been you,” Beck says, steadily holding Peter’s gaze. “How many other teenagers do you think would be capable of creating their own tech, or synthesizing an entirely new compound to fight crime with? Scratch that, how many teenagers do you think would’ve actually decided to fight crime in the first place, instead of just taking advantage of their new power?”

Peter stares at Beck. He shrugs helplessly. “I… I guess I’ve never thought about it.”

Beck shakes his head. “I don’t know where you got it in your head that the only thing special about you came from that spider bite, but it’s not true.”

It’s almost unbearable, to hear all this from a man who’s keeping Peter prisoner and kills people for the sake of being famous. And it hits a little too close to home, to memories of _‘I’m nothing without this suit’_ and how hard he fought to overcome it. But has he exchanged one view of his worth for another? He might be Spider-Man without the suit, but is he truly worth anything without being Spider-Man?

Peter doesn’t have the answer. He lowers his gaze, jerking his shoulder in another shrug.

Suddenly Beck is moving, and Peter snaps his head back up, his heart jolting. But all Beck does is place a hand on Peter’s shoulder. Not a painful grip, just holding him there. It’s… almost a comforting weight.

“You’re a good kid, Peter,” Beck says. “Sorry for getting carried away with all the questions. It’s about time for you to head back to your room, anyways.”

Too many emotions clash inside Peter at once for him to form a response. All he can do is numbly remove his webshooters and tip them into Beck’s outstretched hand. Beck tucks them away, and without another word, steers them towards the doors, back through the facility to Peter’s cell.

Only once Peter’s alone again does he realize Beck’s hand had remained on his shoulder the entire time, and he never once tried to shake it off.

~*~

Beck turns away from Peter’s room and finally lets himself grin.

He’s learning all _sorts_ of interesting things about Peter. It’s handy to know the degree to which his abilities came naturally. Beck has less experience with the ‘genetically altered’ strain of superheroes, so every new bit of information is gladly welcome.

Not to mention the stuff about Peter’s process of becoming Spider-Man. ‘A nylon derivative, my own design.’ Yeah, _no kidding._ Beck’s science division has already analyzed the formula for the web fluid (they had to, so Peter’s webshooters wouldn’t run out) but it was no easy task. It’s insanely complex stuff, certainly nothing Beck would expect a highschooler capable of.

The brains on that kid, _damn._

Technically, Beck hadn’t needed to ask Peter, but it was illuminating to see how he talked about it. Like he really has no clue how remarkable he is- unless he’s directly trying to be. There’s something almost sad about such a brilliant kid feeling like he has to struggle to gain approval or respect from people he admires. Especially since it’s gotten him into danger more than once.

The Vulture incident came up in their initial research on Peter. It was something he shouldn’t have tried to tackle on his own, under any circumstances. But he did it to try and impress Stark. Or, maybe more aptly, to prove himself worthy of Stark’s attention.

That little nuance is what gave Beck the angle he needed to come up with his plan for getting Edith from Peter. So, _so_ smart- unless he’s seeking approval from someone he looks up to. Recognizing that allowed Beck to take advantage of it, and he thinks that Peter’s aware of it now, to some degree.

Will it be enough to stop Peter from slipping into the trap Beck’s placed around him? Only time will tell.

But they’ve made good progress today. Beck hadn’t planned on trying to touch Peter this early, wanting to work up to something as casual as a shoulder touch. But Peter hadn’t reacted violently. And he’d tolerated it- well, almost _more_ than tolerated, really.

It might’ve been Beck’s imagination, but he thinks Peter might’ve leaned into it a little.

He wouldn’t blame him. The kid’s probably touch-starved by this point, no warm hugs from friends or caring touches from his aunt. Beck doesn’t know whether Peter’s a touchy-feely kid by nature, but it’d make sense for _anyone_ to crave something as simple as human contact after almost a month of nearly total isolation.

That’s good, Beck can work with that. Nothing too crazy, of course, but maybe next time he brings Peter dinner, he can try a little pat on the arm-

“Sir, we have a situation.” Louise’s voice yanks Beck out of his thoughts. “An attack.”

Instantly, Beck’s on guard. “Where?” he asks, striding quickly towards the room at the end of the hall. Affectionately called ‘The Stage’, it’s where Beck records or performs all the projection illusions his drones utilize. He’s got a feeling Mysterio is going to have to make an impromptu appearance.

Louise falls into step beside him. “Times Square, New York. There was a weird power surge, and then this guy showed up on all the monitors.”

The doors open automatically for Beck. He walks onto the platform in the center of the stage. “What’s he doing?” 

“Calling you out.”

“Do we know who he is?” Once his feet are in place, the mechanism in the platform pulls his suit onto him, the one he uses as the motion capture base of his Mysterio illusions. Another thing he stole from Stark- the automatic suit assembler is a lifesaver when he’s short on time.

“We’re searching now, but he wasn’t on our watch list.”

Beck taps his watch to make sure Edith is connected to the suit. More people are entering, taking up their positions at computer stations lining the wall to monitor the operation. “How many drones do we have there right now?”

“Ten,” William calls. “Want to call in more?”

“Nah, that’s plenty.” Beck clears his throat. “Patch me through. Heroic entrance protocol.”

Inside the helmet of Beck’s suit, an image appears. Times Square, New York. He sees it from the perspective of one of his drones, which is swooping in while projecting an image of Mysterio. So Beck can see what it sees, and anyone there will just see Mysterio, with the movements Beck makes.

Screens along the walls of the stage show what the other camouflaged drones in the area can see, so Beck can see for himself how his illusion is appearing. Sure enough, Mysterio makes a dramatic entrance, bursting onto the scene with green light swirling around him. It dissipates as he lands, cape billowing behind him.

His illusion’s helmet goes down, and Beck looks around, expression neutral but serious. Now that the drone’s closer, he can see the whole area is pretty much at a standstill. Cars are motionless in the streets as traffic lights blink yellow, people stand in huddled masses looking up fearfully at the many screens surrounding them. 

The man on the screen is… not what Beck had been expecting. He’s a black man somewhere between his thirties and forties (for some reason, it’s hard for Beck to tell). A beard of stubble lines a strong but well-proportioned jaw, and dark, keen eyes peer out from under fine brows. His hair is closely shorn, and even though he’s only seen from the shoulders up, his attire seems… casual. A button-up flannel.

He looks like a regular, normal guy. Not some wackjob auditioning for the nation’s Next Top Supervillain.

“Alright,” Beck says, the drone projecting his voice through the illusion. “I’m here. What do you want?”

Then something bizarre happens. The man on the screen looks down, as if he’s looking directly at Beck from the screen itself. Like he’s inside it, not recording himself and putting the image up on the screen from some remote location.

The man grins, his teeth almost painfully bright. “Well, well.” His voice seems to blare from every speaker in the square, every shop or traffic light that has one, and it’s disorienting to say the least.

Times Square goes dark. Completely, utterly dark. All the screens, traffic lights, and street lamps shut off at once, and since it’s past sundown in New York, the effect is jarring. Panicked screams start up in the crowds, a few cellphone screens providing tiny, haphazard dots of light among them. The drones recording the fight automatically switch into their night vision mode, as does the drone Beck’s view is on.

Beck’s heart jolts, but he keeps himself steady. He’s not physically there right now, so he’s not in any danger. But _damn,_ it’s unnerving. This is some next-level hacking shit.

After a moment, one of the screens lights up again, showing the man’s face- the only source of light in the entire square. He looks thoroughly amused. Keeping his gaze on Beck, which _again_ feels like it shouldn’t be possible, the man moves to the screen beside him. Literally, seamlessly transferring his image like he’s walking from one screen to the next. He continues on, and Beck realizes he’s being circled.

“Mysterio,” the man muses. “Kinda funny name, isn’t it? They’ve decided to identify you based on the fact that they _can’t_ identify you. They’ve adopted you as their new savior but they don’t know _anything_ about you.” He tilts his head, considering.

Beck slowly turns a circle to keep the man in his sight. Something in his voice is… grating, almost. There’s a rumble to it, like he needs to clear his throat. “What about you?” he calls. “Got a name?”

The man chuckles. “You can call me Electro.”

Beck manages to keep a straight face. “What do you want?”

Electro shrugs. “Wanted to meet you, first. Give you a sporting chance.” He lifts two fingers to his temple, giving a salute. “Be seeing you around, Mysterio.”

And just like that, Electro’s face vanishes. All the lights come back on, returning Time Square to its usual brilliance. It’s like nothing ever happened.

Beck blinks. “All that, just to make a threat?” he mutters incredulously. Talk about a drama queen.

He doesn’t stick around to answer questions from the dazed crowd, because people getting too close to the illusions doesn’t bode well. With a solemn promise to get to the bottom of it, Mysterio takes off again, disappearing into the night.

“You’re clear,” comes William’s voice.

Beck tugs his helmet off with a huff. “Well. That was something.” He begins to peel the rest of the suit off, glancing over at the computer monitors. “Any word on this guy’s identity?”

“Unfortunately, no,” William calls over his shoulder, gaze locked on the screen in front of him. “We couldn’t find any records with his face, no license or passport.”

“Huh.” Beck scratches his chin, coming up behind William to study the screens. Random faces filter through at a rapid pace, each one registering negative. So, it was someone largely off the grid.

That’s not _too_ unusual, Beck supposes. You don’t get a lot of supervillains who are well-adjusted, upstanding members of society. Must be some kind of shut-in hacker who decided he needed a new way to get his kicks.

“Initiate full surveillance protocol,” he orders. “Edith will never _not_ be scanning for this guy’s face- from the drones, security taps, satellite, everything we’ve got. The second he reappears, I want to be notified directly and I want drones on him, pronto. I don’t even care if its public. We can pass the explosion off as a gas leak, scrub any security footage that happens to catch it.” He claps William on the shoulder and gives Louise a grin. “Nothing to worry about.”

And truly, Beck isn’t worried. ‘Electro’ might’ve given a normal superhero a run for their money, but not one with the resources Beck has. There’s a supremely intelligent satellite network scanning the planet for the man’s face nonstop, with the capability of executing a drone strike once he’s found.

Sorry, pal. Beck has no time for supervillains.

Beck smooths over his shirt, stepping off the platform. “Call the drones back and have them assessed for damage, in case that electric pulse did anything.” Then he lifts his wrist, speaking to his watch as he strides out of the stage. “Edith, show me Herod’s view.”

_“Of course.”_

The holographic image of Peter’s room pops up. The teen is laying in his bed, trying to sleep. That’s a strange quirk of his. Despite the fact that Herod gives twelve full hours each of daylight and ‘night’ mode, Peter is just as likely to nap during the day as he is at night. It’s gotten better with the nightlight setting though. Less nightmares, oddly enough. Peter wouldn’t have struck Beck as someone who’s afraid of the dark.

“Go ahead and have Herod block access to any news channels,” Beck decides. He knows the Electro story will be covered to some degree, and there’s no use getting Peter worked up over something that’s likely going to be resolved very soon, and without incident. And considering it was in New York, he just _knows_ Peter would be concerned.

_“Request confirmed.”_

“Thanks, honey.” Beck puts his hands on his hips, sighing as he looks around his facility. All the workstations are occupied now, running scans for Electro’s identity. But other than that, nothing’s out of order. No one’s panicked, or running around asking questions. He’s quite pleased at the rhythm they’ve hit as a team- all the little security threats they’ve handled before now were almost in preparation for this, his first encounter with a wild supervillain, and it’s gone swimmingly.

Admittedly, there’s been some lingering doubt from Beck’s talks with Peter. Wondering how he’ll measure up against the real threats that manage to slip under Edith’s radar. And sure, this was a minor incident. Electro didn’t do anything but flash some lights, so Beck’s ability to roll with the punches hasn’t fully been tested yet.

But it’s a good start. A promising start.

And who knows, maybe one day Mysterio will be more real than fake. Beck’s already started looking into how possible it’d be to weaponize the drone technology at an individual scale. Maybe take some notes from Stark and make a suit that uses tech to actually let him fly and shoot green lightning, but cloaking technology to make it look as magical and natural as it always has.

Beck’s not afraid to get his hands dirty and learn to fight for real. And it’d eliminate the chance of him getting jumped in public without any illusions prepared. See what Peter thinks of _that._ Maybe Beck’s _initial_ methods aren’t sustainable, but he’s always been good at adapting himself.

But these are all thoughts that can wait for another time. He anticipates that Electro will have been discovered and disposed of within the next twenty-four hours, and then Beck can get on with planning his next publicity stunt and continue to chip away at Peter’s defenses.

All in all, not bad for a day’s work.

~*~


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Warnings:** Panic attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hi everyone, hope you're still enjoying the story! I'm super excited about where we're heading, but there's a little more set up that has to be done first. Thank you so much to everyone who's commented, I think I've hit a really good rhythm for writing but your feedback is a huge help for keeping me motivated and inspired to write!
> 
>  **Please leave a comment** if you're still reading and enjoying this story! It really means a lot. - Aqua

Chapter Seventeen

~*~

Peter stares up at the ceiling.

He didn’t sleep much last night. There are too many thoughts clouding his mind. His last interaction with Beck has left him troubled and off-balance. Over the past few weeks, he’s gotten… comfortable around Beck. Well, maybe not comfortable, but far less distrusting. He can’t even remember the last time he checked to see if Beck was an illusion or not. When did it stop mattering to him?

It sits like a rock in his stomach. He shouldn’t feel fine around Beck. He should always want to get away from the man, always be thinking of how to escape. But it’s _hard._ It’s _so_ hard to have no one else, to spend hours alone in a room with nothing but a drone playing imitations of human interaction.

And Beck knows that, Peter’s sure of it, because he specifically designed Peter’s imprisonment to be this way. He’s all but eliminated any interaction Peter has with other members of his team, just passing glances as he goes to and from exercise. If Beck isn’t around to deliver Peter’s meals, he has someone slide the tray through a compartment in the door rather than enter the room, preventing Peter from talking to or even seeing anyone else.

Most painfully, Peter hasn’t even seen Virgil around. Despite himself, he’d grown attached to the medic (even if only because he’d had no other options) and misses his company. But either Virgil’s not working for Beck anymore, or he’s been carefully instructed to avoid the areas Peter passes through, because he hasn’t caught so much as a glance of the man.

It’s a precarious position to be in. Peter doesn’t want to let himself forget the threat Beck poses to him. But just because someone’s a criminal doesn’t mean they’re evil all the time.

Adrian Toomes is a cutthroat arms dealer who stole powerful tech and killed anyone who got in his way. He’s also a father, who’s been married for two decades and raised a beautiful daughter. Peter had questioned how he was able to do that to his family, lie to them and lead his secret double life, and the way Toomes had reacted was illuminating.

 _‘To her?’_ he’d asked. _‘I’m doing this **for** her.’_

Some people are better at compartmentalizing than others. They can separate the facets of their life, sort them out in neat little piles. It’s almost like they become different people, wearing different masks for work and family. Especially if said work requires them to wear a literal mask.

Peter doesn’t think Toomes is an evil man, but he’s done evil things. So maybe the same could be said for Beck. He’s one of the worst villains Peter’s ever gone up against (minus Thanos, of course). He’s killed hundreds of innocent civilians with no remorse, all for the purpose of creating this fake image of himself, living out a fantasy of being a hero.

But he’s also capable of showing kindness. Whether or not it has an ulterior motive behind it, he isn’t despicable one hundred percent of the time. He seems to have pleasant relations with his team; they respect and admire him, and he seems appreciative and friendly towards them.

Keeping Peter trapped here is evil, but it’s less evil than killing him at the trainyard. And the more time Peter spends around Beck, the less black-and-white he seems. Using Edith, he’s stopping crime before it can happen. Which, arguably, is having a good effect on the world even if it’s morally and legally ambiguous. Even if it’s just for the purpose of eliminating the competition, Beck’s actions are protecting people.

Sighing, Peter drags his hands down his face. His scar is now a familiar roughness beneath his fingers- something else he hadn’t wanted to get used to, but has done so anyways.

These thoughts have delivered him to a dead end. He doesn’t want to let himself fall into the trap of trusting Beck again, but he’s fighting against Beck’s own intentions and the effects of Stockholm Syndrome. Being aware of it doesn’t make it any less likely to happen.

But what can he do about it? He hates what Beck’s doing, but he’s powerless to stop it. It’s easier to go along with the tentative peace between them instead of rebuking Beck’s every effort to be nice to him. He hasn’t forgotten how miserable his first few weeks here were, and Beck hadn’t even been in a bad mood, then. Peter really, _really_ doesn’t want to see Beck in a bad mood.

There has to be a limit, though. He can’t become _friends_ with Beck, or whatever messed up father-son type thing Beck has in mind. Things like the shoulder touch are definitely out of the question from here on out. So long as he’s polite about setting his boundaries, he hopes Beck will respect them. Because Peter has a feeling that screaming _‘you’re not my dad!’_ wouldn’t go over well-

And speak of the devil, the door opens to allow Beck to enter.

Peter sits up quickly, his heart jolting as if Beck might somehow know he’d been thinking of him. “Hey,” he greets, hoping his voice sounds normal.

Beck’s holding a tray of food, and he gives Peter a look over. “Hey yourself,” he replies. “You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping well. Wanna see if we can do anything about that?”

Peter jerks his shoulder in a shrug. “It’s fine, really.” He has a feeling one of those options would be sleep aid drugs, and that’s the last thing he wants. 

“You sure?” Beck asks, raising an eyebrow. “I hear that certain types of tea can be really good for sleep. You a fan of chamomile?” As Beck leans over to set the tray on the bed, his other hand moves towards Peter’s arm. 

_“No!”_

Before Peter even realizes it, he’s reacting- jumping up off the bed and shoving Beck away, _hard._ The tray flies out of Beck’s hand and clatters to the floor as he stumbles backwards, throwing a hand against the wall to catch his balance.

“No!” Peter shouts again, because he’s definitely shouting now, clenching his fists by his sides. “You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do? You think that- that if you’re nice to me, and give me things, and try to comfort me, that I’m just gonna forget that _you’re_ the one keeping me trapped here? That you’re killing innocent people and threatening my friends’ lives?!”

Beck’s face is pure shock, and the sight would’ve been satisfying if Peter wasn’t so furious.

“It’s bad enough you locked me up here, but- but the mind games, do you even have a reason for it all?” Peter demands, raking his hands through his hair. “Do you _like_ messing with my head, just because you can? It’s- it’s _sick,_ it’s so sick, and you’re _delusional_ if you think I’m _ever_ going to forgive you for everything you’ve put me through, and everything you’ve done to the world!”

Peter catches his breath, chest heaving from his outburst. There’s an angry flush to his face, and every muscle in his body trembles. Despite the strong emotions coursing through him, his mind feels clear and almost lighter, in a way. Like the words he’s kept inside for so long were deadweight, and he’s finally free of it.

Then it hits him that Beck has yet to say anything, still staring at him in shocked silence as something like reproach creeps into his eyes. Now that Peter’s stopped yelling, the silence in the room is almost overwhelming. His blood turns to ice as reality hits him like a train.

“Beck?” His voice is the smallest he’s ever heard it. “I’m sorry. Beck, I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean to, I’m _sorry._ Please.”

Slowly, Beck straightens up and smooths his shirt over, no longer looking at Peter. He says nothing.

“Beck, please-” Peter’s voice cracks. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled, I didn’t- I didn’t mean it, please.” He’s seconds away from panicking, because he’s technically just attacked Beck, the man who can order MJ or Ned’s death with the press of a button. “I didn’t mean it, I-”

“No,” Beck says finally, his voice hard, “I think you and I both know that you did.”

A black hole opens up in Peter’s stomach. He takes half a step forward, a pleading hand stretched out. “I lost my temper, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you. I won’t do it again, I promise, I- I promise.”

“Oh, I know you won’t,” Beck says. The intensity in his eyes is like nothing Peter’s seen from him before, and it’s terrifying.

Tears sting Peter’s eyes. “Please, don’t hurt them,” he breathes. “It’s my fault, okay, o- okay, be mad at _me,_ do whatever you want to me, but don’t hurt them. Please.”

Beck could kill one of them right now. He’d still have the other to hold against Peter as leverage, and he’s only kept both of them up to this point because he hadn’t had a reason not to. But Peter is intimately aware of the fact that he might’ve just given him one.

“It won’t happen again,” Peter swears. “I’ll- I’ll- I’ll be good, I’ll be better, okay? Whatever you want. Just don’t hurt them.”

Beck tilts his head, giving him a considering look. “We’ll see.”

With that, he strides out of the room. The lock turns behind him.

Peter’s breathing hitches. Shakily, he walks over to the door, leaning against it and knocking with the back of his hand.

“Beck?” he calls. “You’re not gonna hurt them, right?” He presses his ear to the door, desperately listening for a response. “Oh god. Beck? Beck!” Panic bubbles over, and he starts banging on the door, his voice shrill. _“Beck!_ Don’t hurt them, please! _Please, I’m sorry!”_

Hours pass without response. 

Peter screams himself hoarse.

~*~

It’s hard for Maxwell to explain what it’s like, being in a form of pure electricity.

He’s a corporeal mind, a bundle of consciousness travelling along a wave of energy. No physical body for him to be aware of or maintain, so all his attention can go into the task at hand.

He feels freer like this, almost. He has to keep himself focused so he’s not inclined to just slip away into the energy flow of the universe- a dangerous temptation, but a necessary risk. In this form, he can reach anything that conducts or uses electricity if there isn’t a barrier between them. And in today’s time, there’s a whole lot of that around.

Like all those fancy screens at Times Square. He’d had a lot of fun running through those, brushing along the billions of pixels like digging his non-existent fingers through fine sand. Manipulating them to form an image, his image, of what he looks like in his human form. He’s got a bit of a knack for dramatics, if the reaction he got is anything to go by.

But the icing on the cake is the drones. Maxwell had been surprised to sense the machine behind Mysterio, the electric field it projected almost screaming for him to notice it. It’s real sophisticated technology, nothing the folks in Maxwell’s time could’ve even dreamed of. To think, that all Mysterio’s appearances were nothing but a lightshow. What a con this guy’s running! He’s almost impressed.

It was easy for Maxwell to transfer himself into one of the drones, jumping between conductors like a miniscule bolt of lightning. And as his luck would have it, Mysterio brought all the drones back to his home base, just like Maxwell was hoping he would.

And what a base it is. In the middle of nowhere, hidden by some kind of force field that disguises it to blend into its surroundings. A tall, sturdy facility with tech in every floorboard- all the machines hum for Maxwell’s attention and it’s hard to block them out at times.

He needs to be patient. True, he’s well-hidden. He could spring out of the drone right now, resume his human form, and go on the attack. Take them by surprise. But for all the damage he could do, there’s one little problem, and its name is Edith. He’s learned about the AI program through its connection to the drone, and _man,_ what a program.

An extensive network of hundreds of satellite-wired drones that have a wide range of attack capabilities and life-like projectors, all connected to the brain of a supercomputer and the trigger of a man playing superhero. It reminds Maxwell of those junky sci-fi novels that came out back in the day, harking the dangers of computers when they were first made. Except it’s real, and far vaster than anything he would’ve expected.

No _wonder_ Mysterio didn’t look the least bit concerned by Maxwell’s threat. He could target any human on the planet, even thousands of miles away, and have them taken out by drones with a single command. That’s a tall order.

But Maxwell has the advantage here. Everything Mysterio’s built up runs on tech, and by extension, electricity. His only catch is that he’ll have to be sneaky about it. He’s avoided discovery so far, but it won’t take much activity on his part for the Edith AI to detect his presence.

Trying to go after Mysterio while it’s still functional would be a fool’s errand. So, he’ll have to take some time getting familiar with the program. Immerse himself in its code. Until he can build himself a little blind spot in it, and then _really_ get to work. 

On the bright side, once that’s done, all he’ll have to face is an ordinary man, with no powers or weapons of his own. And who knows, maybe Maxwell could even commandeer the AI for his own purposes, after. That kind of manpower would definitely come in handy.

Just one man standing between Maxwell and complete control of the world. 

It’s almost too easy, but Maxwell isn’t complaining.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** BY THE WAY we broke 10,000 hits over the winter break so THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT!! Here's to 10,000 more <3 - Aqua


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Warnings:** Language, death mention, minor injury description.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hello readers, welcome back! Thank you all so much for your comments, I really appreciate it and hope you keep it up! This chapter is one I've been anticipating for a long time and BEYOND excited to share, so please let me know what you think! - Aqua

Chapter Eighteen

~*~

Peter paces around his room.

At this rate, he’s probably going to wear a ditch into the floor, but he can’t stop himself. In the few days that’ve passed since the incident, Peter’s had no interaction with anyone. All his meals are delivered through the door, and no one’s come to collect him for his exercise. He hasn’t heard anything from Beck or anyone else, and no one replies when he calls out.

But that’s okay, because it means that Beck’s decided his punishment will be isolation. Peter can handle that. As much as it sucks not getting to stretch his legs every day, it’s far better than Beck taking it out on Ned or MJ. Peter just wishes Beck would’ve _told_ him what his punishment would be, so there wouldn’t be this lingering bit of doubt in the back of his mind.

He’s tried to check his local news station through Herod, to see if there are any reports about a sudden explosion or other mysterious accident that might’ve killed Ned or MJ. But it seems Beck is a step ahead of him and has blocked his access. That could be another component of his isolation, being unable to see what’s going on in the world. Maybe Beck even wants to keep Peter guessing about whether or not he’s hurt them, an extra layer of stress to heap on to the punishment.

If that’s the case, it’s all fine. Peter will take whatever Beck’s got planned without complaint, so long as he doesn’t hurt them.

At least, that’s what Peter keeps telling himself to keep the panic at bay. Realistically, he knows he’s given Beck something to hold against him. He doesn’t know what this means for his future here and he’s scared to find out. How far is Beck going to push his cooperation? He doesn’t even know what Beck _wants,_ so guessing what he might have to do to get back in Beck’s favor is an impossible task-

An explosion goes off somewhere in the building. 

It’s _loud,_ not too far away, and Peter jumps, feeling it rumble through the floor. He stumbles back against the wall, heart pounding, as more explosions ring off in sequence. There are shouts outside his door, all of it blending together into one giant ball of noise, roaring painfully in his ears.

Abruptly, Herod drops from its spot in the corner of the room, the drone’s lights going off and a distinct whine cutting through the air as it powers down. Peter jumps at that too, staring at the fallen drone as his breathing speeds up. Herod’s inactive. He’s never seen that before.

Sensing an opportunity, Peter rushes to the door- but quickly finds it still locked. Cursing, he leans against the door, pressing his ear to it and straining to hear over the thumping of his heart.

After a few more moments of chaos, the air falls silent again. Almost eerily so, nothing but the too-faint-to-make-out murmur of voices beyond the door. Was there an accident? Or a fight? If it’s a fight, then with who- and who won?

Then, the sound of approaching footsteps. Peter backs away from the door slowly, his hair standing on end, every muscle tense in anticipation as he readies himself.

The door opens.

“Hey, kid.”

Tony steps into the room.

He’s not in an Iron Man suit, rather a sleek button-up and suit jacket with dress pants and loafers. No shades, and their absence allows the exhaustion in his eyes to show, the rings of dark circles. On the whole, his face is hollower than Peter remembers, less clean-shaven with stubble lining his jaw. But all of this is trivial, unimportant compared to the state of the right side of his body.

His right arm is in a sling, swathed in bandages and held closely to his chest. All the skin on the right side of his face is rough and discolored, better than when Peter last saw him but still heavily damaged. The most prominent scar is a long, thin line that draws from the corner of his right brow down to the side of his mouth. And as Peter looks at him, face on, he realizes it’s nearly an exact mirror of his own scar.

A tired smile spreads across Tony’s face, and without a word, he walks up to Peter and pulls him into a hug. Only one-armed, but he holds Peter tight enough for two. Peter doesn’t react, completely frozen in shock. His immediate thought is that this can’t be real, he must be dreaming, or maybe he died in the middle of the night and is reuniting with Tony in the afterlife-

Tony pulls away, scanning Peter’s face with creased brows. “You alright? Not hurt anywhere?” His gaze falls on Peter’s scar, his hand coming up to touch it. “That’s new. Did he do that? Nevermind, you can tell me later.”

Peter can’t even jerk away from the touch, his senses struck utterly numb. His mouth works soundlessly, his mind scrambling to piece together his thoughts until they finally tumble past his lips.

“No,” Peter gasps, stumbling away from Tony. “No, no, no, no, you- you can’t be here right now. You’re dead.”

_“Was_ dead,” Tony corrects mildly, holding a finger up. “Formerly. But King T’challa stepped in and with Wakandan medicine, they were able to save me. Or, well, most of me.” He shrugs his shoulder and turns away, absently opening the bathroom door and peeking inside. “A bathroom, huh? Kidnappings have really stepped it up since my time.”

Peter rakes his hands through his hair, shaking his head. “No, this can’t be real, it’s been months. You’ve been dead for _months,_ almost a year now, why- why would you come back _now?”_ he asks desperately. “This isn’t real, it’s- it’s gotta be another illusion-”

“Kid, I’m just a normal human,” Tony sighs. “Putting me back together took time, alright? I was in a coma until a month ago. They didn’t want to announce anything in case it went south. Or in case someone leapt at the opportunity to finish the job. So we let the world believe I was dead until they were absolutely one-hundred percent certain I wasn’t going to be.” 

Peter struggles to catch his breath. It rings shallow in his ears, tears stinging his eyes. He doesn’t want to believe it. It’s impossible. But Tony _hugged_ him, and it felt real. His hand on Peter’s face felt real. Beck’s illusions have never been able to do that.

Could this be real? Could Tony really be alive? The explanation makes logical sense; weirder things have happened and Peter’s seen the impossible before. After all, Peter himself was dead for five years before a magical bedazzled glove brought him back.

“How...?” Peter breathes. “How did you guys- I mean, Beck, he- he would’ve seen you were alive and used Edith to take you out, right?”

Tony puts his hand on Peter’s shoulder and gently guides him to sit down on the bed. “Well, waking up to this Mysterio business, I decided it’d be best to keep the secret until he was taken care of,” he explains. “The team knew something was up with Beck once you went missing, but since he had Edith, they had to be careful about it. It took time to pick out a flaw in the system, a blind spot they could attack. Of course, it went a lot faster once yours truly was around. Ever since Ultron, I make sure all my AI’s have a fail-safe, one they aren’t aware of and couldn’t disable if they were.”

Peter glances at Herod, the drone still laying in a motionless heap on the ground. “Wait, so- so Edith-”

“It’s been shut down,” Tony assures him. “Beck and all his people are in custody.”

Peter’s knees feel weak, and he’s thankful to be sitting. It’s _over._ MJ and Ned are safe. It’s over. Beck can’t control him anymore, he can go home, he’s _free._ The thought makes him tremble, dizzy with relief, but it’s also so overwhelming he might cry.

Tony seems to sense this, because he tightens his grip on Peter’s shoulder to give a reassuring squeeze. “It’s fine. It’s fine. You’ve got a lot to process, I know. But let’s get you out of here, okay?”

He stands up, Peter following suit uncertainly. Tony strides through the door, but Peter stops at the threshold.

Hesitating, he peers through the doorway. He can see agents in black uniforms going back and forth, talking into headsets or tapping on tablets. No Beck, no drones, none of Beck’s team. There’s nothing stopping him from leaving the cell. But he can’t make himself take that step.

“Something wrong?” Tony’s looking at him expectantly.

“I- I just…” Peter takes a deep breath. “It’s… so hard to believe this is really happening. Beck’s illusion tech, it’s so crazy, like- like you wouldn’t even believe, so- so I’m just having a hard time-”

“Right, right, they mentioned that.” Tony waves his hand dismissively. “Something only the real me would know, right? Okay, let’s see. How about the time I fished you out of a lake because you _deliberately disobeyed_ my orders and tried to take on a big baddie alone?”

Peter blinks, caught off guard by the sudden change in Tony’s voice, the hard line of his jaw. “What?”

Tony regards him sternly. “I’ve been trying to play it cool but I’ve got a bone to pick, I can’t _believe_ you gave Edith to that psychopath. No, scratch that, I can believe it but I’m not happy about it.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I left Edith for _you._ I thought you were ready for the responsibility. I trusted you.”

Peter’s breath catches in his throat. “Wait-”

“Guess that was a mistake.” Tony’s angry and disappointed and resigned all at once. “Do you even know how many people he’s killed? Specifically, the ones he’s killed using _Edith?_ The London attack is one thing, but he’s been running a DIY death squad for weeks now, and that tech’s got _my_ name all over it.” 

Realization crashes down on Peter like two tons of concrete. “I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no, you _zip it,_ I don’t wanna hear it,” Tony cuts him off harshly, and it’s a jab right into Peter’s heart. “You know what that means for me? My father built the Stark legacy by selling weapons. I shut it down. Didn’t stop me from paying for it, over and over again. Beck’s just the latest in a long line of jaded revenge-seekers that’ve made it their mission to make my life hell.”

It's too much. Peter stumbles back, and Tony follows, walking him right back into the room. He doesn’t even miss a beat in his lecture, poking a finger into Peter’s chest.

“I thought I could make up for it, tried to make something good, something helpful, and that something turned out to be Ultron.” A dry smile curls Tony’s lips. “After Ultron, I thought I’d learned what _not_ to do, thought I could get it right this time with Edith. But no, that went up in smoke too, and it’s because of you.”

Peter’s voice has curled up and died inside his throat. He has no words, no response to what Tony’s saying. His thoughts have gone utterly blank, shut down in the face of such sheer animosity.

“What happened to being ready for more? What happened to wanting to be like me? There was a time you would’ve given _anything_ to be an Avenger, but as soon as I go and give you the chance, you blow it. What happened, huh?” Tony’s gaze bores into Peter’s, searching. _“What happened?”_

“You _died,”_ Peter manages to choke out, tears blurring his vision. “I wasn’t ready to- I- I couldn’t just step into the shoes you left behind, I- how _could_ I? I’m- I’m just a kid.”

_“Obviously,”_ Tony says with disdain, and somehow that’s worse than disagreeing. “You know, when _I_ was taken captive by maniacs, I built a suit and blasted my way out. And I did it in a cave, with metal shrapnel in my chest.” His gaze turns accusatory. “What’ve you been doing all this time? Did you even have a plan for getting out? Or were you just counting on someone to come save you?”

The words _hurt._ “He threatened my friends, I- I couldn’t do anything,” Peter says, almost pleading. He reaches a hand out, beseeching.

Tony knocks Peter’s hand aside. “Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” he demands. “What use is that big brain of yours if you’re just gonna roll over and give up at the first hurdle?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Peter insists weakly, despite the guilt knotting in his stomach. “I’m sorry, I never- I didn’t mean for this to happen, for _any_ of it to happen. I _tried,_ Mr. Stark, I- I tried to tell Fury about Beck, but-”

“But by then, he already had Edith,” Tony finishes. “Yeah, we surmised as much. Look, kid, I’d give you an A for effort but all the sentiment in the world won’t change what happened.” He sticks his hand in his pocket, glancing away. “We gave it the old college try, but the Spider-Man thing isn’t working out. You’re gonna go lay low for a bit while we clean up this mess, and once everything’s calmed down, you’re back to being Peter Parker, normal kid, understand?”

It takes Peter a second to realize what Tony’s saying. His throat closes up. Right away, he wants to protest. It’s not fair, he did the best he could. He can make it up to Tony, he just needs another chance. The world still needs Spider-Man, he can do it.

But… he’s not sure anymore. He’s messed up so badly. Everything is so messed up- his mind is messed up, his emotions even more so. Tony doesn’t trust him anymore, and Peter isn’t sure he trusts himself. Maybe… things would be better, for everyone, if he stopped trying to play hero.

Peter wraps his arms around himself, lowering his gaze. “Okay,” he whispers. 

Tony sighs, putting his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I really am sorry, Peter, but this was necessary.”

Peter freezes.

That phrasing. There’s an intense disconnect between the words and the voice they’re being delivered by. Peter looks up in confusion, and Tony’s grinning, except-

Except it’s not Tony’s grin.

It’s a grin Peter’s gotten to know all too well in the past month. Horror rears up inside him and spurs him into action, unfreezing him enough to pull away. Even as he does so, Tony’s face is changing. Light glitches across his features until the face staring back at Peter is entirely different.

Beck chuckles, and it’s in his own voice. “Wow, that took a lot longer than I expected. Losing your touch, Peter?”

Peter thinks he might be sick. He should’ve known. He should’ve _known_ it was too good to be true, and now-

The room shifts around him as illusions fall away; Herod is hanging up in the corner as always, lights on, and the door is closed once more. Maybe it was always closed. The rest of Beck’s false appearance vanishes, leaving him standing in the illusion suit.

Beck spreads his hands. “What do you think, I do a damn good Stark impression, huh? That was a fun little exercise, shake things up a bit, wouldn’t you agree?” His expression darkens, his smile only reaching his lips now as intensity lights his eyes. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson. Your grounding will last a few more days, give you time to think things over.”

With that, he turns sharply on his heel, striding towards the door. “Until then, Peter.”

Beck leaves, the door locking behind him.

Peter remains motionless for a few moments after. He feels like he just got off a roller coaster and is waiting for the world to stop spinning around him. A detached part of him is painfully aware that his devastation must be showing clearly on his face, but he doesn’t have the presence to control it right now. Mentally, he’s picking through the events carefully. Sorting through the moments, studying what he saw and heard, and comparing it to his memories. It really, _truly_ seemed real, like Tony was actually-

And then it hits him all at once, and Peter crumbles to his knees, a strangled gasp tearing at his lungs. Tears stream hot and fast down his face, and he’s powerless to stop it, powerless to even move himself to the privacy of the bathroom because it means _nothing_ compared to what Beck has just done to him.

Nothing else matters right now. There could be explosions going off in the building for real, and Peter would be deaf and blind to it. And maybe it’d be better than way, because then he wouldn’t get his hopes up only for them to be crushed again.

Nothing would be worth that, worth experiencing this pain again.

Nothing.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I said once on my Tumblr that I'm using _'it wears a mask'_ to do two specific things; one thing I wish that Spider-Man: Far From Home had done, and one thing I wish any Spider-Man media in general had done. This chapter was the thing I wish FFH had done. The other thing is still to come, though the signs are already there. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, **please comment** if you did and I'll see you next time! - Aqua


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Warnings:** Minor violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hi readers! I hope you enjoyed the last chapter, there were some lovely reactions :3 I’ve been so exciting to get to that part, you have no idea. But now, onward! This has been highly anticipated for a while now so I hope you enjoy, **please leave a comment** if you do! - Aqua

Chapter Nineteen

~*~

Peter lies burrowed in his blankets, focused on absolutely nothing except the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Days have passed since the illusion. How many, Peter’s not sure- he’s spent a lot of it in a haze. Nothing much has changed as far as his punishment is concerned. He picks at the meals delivered underneath the door and spends his time in bed or the floor of the shower. Still no exercise, but Peter doesn’t think he could make himself do it even if it was offered. The will to do anything has vanished. He just wants to crawl into a nice, dark hole and stay there forever.

There’s been no word from Beck or anyone else. Peter hasn’t tried calling out for them. It’s for the best; the last thing he wants right now is anyone looking at him. He feels too vulnerable for that, knowing that everyone at the base has probably either heard about, seen, or even helped create the Tony illusion. 

And they all know that it _worked,_ that Peter was so desperate for it to be true that he let himself be completely fooled by the same trick Beck’s already used on him before. That weakness is known to them now, and even if Peter never succumbs to it again, it won’t erase what happened.

Yeah, living in a hole sounds real appealing right now.

Peter curls into himself. It hurts so much to have seen Tony’s face, heard his voice, only for it all to be fake. He’d never even considered Tony might still be alive- how _could_ he, when he witnessed Tony’s death? So having that hope dangled in front of him and then snatched away just as quickly has torn a deep gouge into his heart, in mimicry of the scar on his face.

The accusations ‘Tony’ hurled at him left their mark. Even knowing it was all Beck, his thoughts can’t stop revisiting them. Maybe it _is_ Peter’s fault he’s in this situation. A better hero would’ve seen the trap coming from miles away, or been strong enough to beat it. All Peter did at the trainyard was curl into a ball and cry.

And now for the first time, Peter finds himself thinking that if Tony _was_ still alive, he’d be ashamed of Peter. Ashamed to have to fly in and clean up his mess for him because he’s incapable of taking care of himself and his own problems. Ashamed to have ever thought Peter was cut out for this. And ashamed to have seen Peter as a…

No, Peter doesn’t know that he did. It’s wishful thinking, that someone as incredible as Tony could have possibly cared for Peter that way-

An electric hum fills the room.

Peter jolts upright, his hair standing on end. It’s hard to say where it’s coming from, exactly, and he can’t see anything out of the ordinary. He squints at Herod, the drone sitting motionless in its usual corner of the room. Maybe-

There’s a flash of light, so intense Peter has to look away. When he looks back, there’s a man standing in the cell.

He’s a black man around Beck’s age, maybe a few years older. Handsome enough, in a rugged way. His attire is oddly casual; jeans and a button-up. He smooths his shirt over, running a hand over his closely shorn hair before turning his attention to Peter.

“Y’know, when I found out Mysterio had a prisoner, I wasn’t expecting a kid.” The man looks Peter up and down. “You’re the spider guy, then?”

There’s a gravelly texture to his voice that sends goosebumps racing across Peter’s skin. He jumps out of bed. “Wha- who- who are you, what do you want?”

“Name’s Electro. And any enemy of Mysterio is a friend of mine.” He grins, and his teeth are unnaturally bright, with an undercurrent of blue. “Wanna be friends?”

Peter stares at him. “This… this is another illusion, isn’t it?” he says warily.

‘Electro’ frowns. “The hell are you talking about?” he asks, taking a step forward.

Peter steps back, holding a hand out in warning. “C- come on, Beck, this is weird. What are you even trying to do?” he demands, looking him up and down in an effort to spot some flaw in the illusion. He can’t even begin to figure out what Beck’s angle is here, but it’s not the first time Beck’s mind has eluded him-

“I’m not Beck,” ‘Electro’ grumbles, taking another step towards him. “I’m here because-”

“No, see, that’s- that’s the thing,” Peter cuts in nervously, backing up again, “you couldn’t be in this cell right now because Beck would’ve already found out about it and the drone would be attacking-”

“Oh don’t you worry about that.” ‘Electro’ folds his arms, looking pleased. “Picked up a neat little trick with those while I was in there. I spliced a recording and set it to loop over the drone’s feed. All it sees right now is you layin’ in bed. Audio’s cut out, too, and it can stay that way as long as I need it.”

Peter blinks. “But…” He glances up at Herod, noting that the drone seems fully operational but yet to raise any alarms. The explanation isn’t too far-fetched, except something about the phrasing is- “Wait, so- so you were _inside_ it? That’s impossible, unless-”

“Unless…?” Electro tilts his head, amused. He stretches an arm out, and the fluorescent light from the ceiling lamp jumps into his hand. He holds it out to Peter, close enough for Peter to feel the surge of electrostatic energy from it, before casually tossing it back up, where it settles once more in the overhead lamp.

Peter _knows_ Beck can’t do _that._

Alright, so this is a real person. Someone with some kind of electricity power, who got in through the drones. Someone Peter doesn’t know. He swallows, trying to push down the surge of emotions, and reminds himself to be cautious.

“You… are you an Avenger?” he ventures, hope rising up despite himself. “Did Fury send you?”

“Not an Avenger, and don’t know anyone named Fury,” Electro answers simply. “I’m here to take down Mysterio. You in?”

It seems like a simple question with a straightforward answer. Of _course_ Peter wants to take Beck down. To be free again. And some stranger with electric powers is offering him the chance to do it, and to _help_ him, even. But there’s something about this man that leaves Peter unsettled, and he knows from his experience with Beck that simple words can be misleading, hiding much more under the surface.

“Let’s say I was,” Peter says carefully. “What would happen after?”

“What, for you?” Electro shrugs. “Doesn’t matter to me. You’ll be free to go do whatever you want.”

Despite the way Peter’s heart aches for that, to be _free,_ he hesitates. “And… and what would happen after for _you?”_

Electro’s face darkens. “You ask a lotta questions.”

Alarm grabs hold of Peter like a steel vise, squeezing his heart as it strains to pound against his ribcage. He licks his lips. “When you say take Mysterio down, do you- do you mean like, yknow… take him _out?_ Like, permanently?”

“If you mean kill him, then yeah,” Electro says, scratching at his chin. “I don’t need some phony in my way.”

Kill Beck. _Kill Beck?_ Peter’s almost reached a point where he’d think that’s impossible- but he knows better. Under all the tech and glamor, Beck is just a normal human, and humans die. Impossible as it seems.

But does he deserve it? He’s done horrific things, yes. Taken so many lives, for no good reason. But would it be right to let him die? Is that something for Peter to decide? If Peter was in the position to kill Beck himself, would he do it?

No, Peter doesn’t think he would.

Peter tries to keep his face a mask. “What about the others?” he asks, his voice neutral. “The- the people who work for him?”

“Let me clarify. I don’t need _anyone_ in my way.” Electro towers over Peter. It feels like his cold, bright gaze is boring a hole right into Peter’s skull. “I’ll give ‘em a chance, the same chance I’m offering you. You’re either with me, or you’re against me.” A crooked grin splits the corner of his mouth. “And you don’t wanna find out what happens when you’re against me.”

Peter knows instantly in his heart that Beck’s team will stand with him. Possibly out of fear or overconfidence, but more likely out of loyalty. Beck’s spent years building up his team and from what Peter’s seen, they view each other as more of a family than co-workers. A dysfunctional family, maybe, but a family nonetheless. And they’re held together by their collective illegal actions; they’re in too deep now to back down.

So they stand by Beck, and this Electro guy tries to kill them all.

It shouldn’t matter. Collectively, they’re responsible for hundreds of innocent people’s deaths. They’re the bad guys, and if given the chance, they will continue to cause death and mass destruction around the world. All for the sake of keeping up a false image, creating a fake hero in a world that has plenty of real ones. It’d probably be better off without them.

And more than that, Peter actually has a chance to be free of them. Free of _Beck._ If Electro takes care of them, then Peter can walk out of here, without having to worry about MJ, or Ned, or anyone else he cares about. He can go back to his life, back to May and his friends and just be normal again. 

But there’s a saying about ‘the devil you know.’ From what Peter’s sensing, Electro isn’t interested in saving the world from Beck’s control. He’s not really aiming to stop Beck, but replace him. When all’s said and done, it might be an even worse situation than the current one. Maybe not for Peter specifically, but certainly for the world at large. So if only for that reason, Peter has to stop Electro.

And despite everything they’ve done, Peter can’t let them be killed. 

Not even Beck.

Evil deeds aside, they’re all just people. People like Virgil, who aren’t purely evil. Those deaths would be on his conscience, even if he’s not the one to actually kill them. It’s not his place to decide who deserves to live or die. He’s not like Beck. And it reminds him of something he told Tony, once, what seems so long ago.

_‘When you can do the things I can, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen… they happen because of you.’_

Morals aren’t really morals if you only stick to them when it’s convenient. And Peter can’t call himself a hero if he walks away as dozens of people are about to be murdered in cold blood, whether or not they’re murderers themselves.

Peter takes a deep breath. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not interested.”

Springing off the ground, Peter launches himself at the wall to propel himself at Herod. Wrapping his arms around it, he twists midair to hurl it against the wall. The drone smashes in a burst of sparks, smoke that smells like battery acid curling up from the wreckage.

Peter’s only just landed on the ground again when he hears an alarm go off outside the door. A surge of relief floods through him as he realizes his hunch was right- destroying the drone has automatically alerted Beck’s team.

And then something like an invisible wall slams into him, throwing him against the actual wall as electricity courses through his body. He doesn’t even have the ability to scream, his muscles locking up as he seizes on the floor.

Over the pain, he hears a heavy sigh.

“Well, can’t say I didn’t try.” 

Through the tears blurring his eyes, Peter sees Electro turn away. Bright blue light envelops him, and suddenly his body seems to be _made_ of it; a translucent, deep blue figure of pulsing energy with flickers of electricity racing through him instead of veins. He walks towards the door, every step sending another shockwave through the floor. With one push of his hand, it’s blown off its hinges.

Electro inhales deeply, rolling his head side to side. 

“Let’s get this over with, then.”

He passes through the doorway and disappears from view. 

Peter’s left twitching on the floor with spots flashing across his vision, and when the screams start, there’s nothing he can do.

~*~


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Warnings:** Violence, language, injury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hi readers! Sorry this is a little late, the last couple days have been crazy. To make up for it, this one is pretty long (over 4k!) and we FINALLY get to see the long-awaited battle between Electro and the others! I'm super happy with how this came out so I hope you all enjoy, please let me know if you do! - Aqua

Chapter Twenty

~*~

Beck whistles to himself as he makes his way down the hall.

Boy, he really loves it when a plan goes off without a hitch. It’s been a few days, but he still can’t get over how perfect the Stark illusion went down. He’d definitely expected Peter to catch on sooner than he did, which either means Peter’s losing his edge or he wanted so badly to believe it that he let himself be fooled. In any case, Beck got a lot of mileage out of it and he couldn’t be more satisfied.

“Edith, show me Peter’s room,” Beck orders, turning the corner.

The view from Herod’s camera pops up. Peter’s laying in his bed, his back to the camera. Sleeping, maybe, but more likely pouting. He’s been doing that since the Stark illusion. Which is fine, of course, because Beck intended for that little game to take Peter down a peg. But now that he’s been broken down, it’s time to start building him back up- and hopefully, with a better attitude.

Peter’s webshooters are in Beck’s pocket. Getting some exercise will cheer the kid up, it always does. Beck dismisses the projection and walks towards Peter’s room, thinking about what he’s going to say. It’s best to move on from the Stark illusion; it was a punishment, it’s over now, and Beck’s extending the olive branch. If Peter’s smart, he’ll take it. After all, it can’t be much fun stewing in your own misery, at some point he’s gotta-

Suddenly alarms go off. The atmosphere in the room shifts instantly, people talking in fast and sharp voices, something about Peter's room. Beck's already lifting his watch to his mouth as he runs to check the nearest security monitor, "Edith, alert the security team-"

And then Beck’s weightless, flying through air that’s filled with static. The force of the explosion is so great his eardrums pop, and it’s a hard landing thirty feet away.

Beck’s landed face-down, his lungs refusing to cooperate because of the pain around his midsection. With difficultly, he rolls onto his back, gasping for air. First thing; he doesn’t think anything’s broken and he’s not coughing up blood, so the likely injuries to his ribcage can wait. He takes a quick look at his surroundings.

Everything in the massive room has been totaled, all the various workstations flipped over and smashed or burned. People run and scream, or lay on the ground completely still, and that’s a far worse sight.

In the center of it all is a man- or, the figure of a man, made entirely out of blue pulsing… energy? Matter? It reminds Beck of jellyfish, oddly enough. The man’s floating in the middle of the room, arms spread out and firing blasts of energy that send people scrambling for cover. It’s a scene of utter chaos, so bizarre and unexpected that Beck’s almost stuck dumb for a moment, until he catches a good look at the man’s face.

It might no longer be flesh and blood, but the facial features are recognizable. That man at Times Square, with the screens- the one who called himself Electro. Beck realizes with suddenly clarity that it wasn’t fancy hacking skills that’d allowed Electro to pull off that particular stunt, and the name is quite literal. Electric powers, moving through the screens- _the drones._ He’d gotten to the drones in New York and they’d taken him right to the base-

“Edith, emergency proto- agh!” Beck breaks off as the sharp whine of static flickers out of the watch. “Edith? _Edith,_ report!”

There’s nothing but static, and Beck’s heart sinks as he realizes Edith is down. Edith’s _never_ down- which means Electro must be in the system. Which _means_ Beck’s completely on his own here.

Electro’s spotted him, and the firestorm ceases. Beck pushes himself back onto his feet, grimacing at the ache.

“Electro, was it?” Beck calls, trying to sound as unbothered as one can be when you have bruised ribs. “What’s with the new look? Was your application to the Blue Man group rejected?”

“Afternoon, Mysterio.” Electro lands in front of Beck, a sadistic grin on his face. His teeth glow painfully bright. “Or, what was it the kid called you… Beck?”

The kid. Beck’s heart jolts, cutting his eyes to the side. The door to Peter’s room has been blown off its hinges, but Peter’s nowhere in sight. “What did you do to Peter?” he demands, pain and fear making it come out more desperate than he intended.

Electro doesn’t answer, though curiosity glints in his eyes. “Why keep him, anyways?” he asks instead, tilting his head as he steps closer. “Seems like an awful lot of trouble.”

Beck stumbles back. His ribs protest the movement, and his arm instinctively curls around them, his other hand held out in front as if it could provide some barrier between him and Electro.

Behind Electro, Beck can see the people motionless on the ground- hopefully just unconscious- being dragged out of harm’s way by the others. But the main exit on this level is within direct line of sight of Electro, and Beck can tell they don’t want to risk it. He better keep the blue man busy.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Beck says lowly.

“Oh? Why’s that?” Electro’s grin has turned cold, now. “Cause I’m not as smart as you, that it? Think you’re better than everyone? I mean, sure you do, why else would you take up this gig, right? Except, there’s one little problem.”

Electro moves, faster than Beck’s expecting. He grabs Beck’s outstretched arm with a grip like steel and breaks it over his shoulder.

Beck sees white. He hears the _crack_ ricochet through his body, a sickly thing, and only once its echo has subsided does he register the sound of his own screaming. It’s not something he’s familiar with hearing and it almost startles him, allowing him to clamp his mouth down over the awful sound. He breathes raggedly through his nose, frozen in place because it _hurts_ but trying to move away hurts even more.

Electro leans in, his voice a hush by Beck’s ear. “You’re just a human. Doesn’t matter how big your brain is, or how fancy your machines are. At the end of the day, you’re gonna wear down and stumble and _die_ like the rest of ‘em.”

Electro grabs Beck’s shirt with his other hand and _throws_ him against the wall. The impact shudders through his body so intensely he blacks out for a second, coming back to find himself on the ground without remembering the fall.

His left arm is in agony. The weight of his body on top of it is _crushing,_ and he fumbles to push himself up, a strangled cry catching in his throat. It hurts, everything hurts, and his mind is spinning out of control. Only when he sees a flash of blue light does he remember Electro- the man is approaching him slowly, casually almost, his hands flickering with energy.

“I’m not like you,” Electro says. “I was here long before you, and I’ll be here long after you’re gone. And I’ll do a better job lookin’ after this world than you ever could, I promise you that.”

Beck tries to get up, but Electro plants a heavy foot on his back. Beck’s arm falls out from under him, his chin biting into the floor, and he grunts at the pressure against his bad arm. His vision is starting to blur in and out- not a good thing. He needs to stay awake. Breathe, focus, _how do you get out of this one?_

“I do need to thank you, though.” Electro’s voice is actually genuine. “If it weren’t for you, I never would’ve gotten such an idea in my head. You showed me that folks are desperate enough to believe in saviors.” He lifts a hand, and it ignites with electric charge, so much that Beck’s hair stands on end. “I think I’ll make a pretty damn good one.”

Electro aims his hand at Beck’s head, resolve hardening in his eyes as he prepares to fire-

A bullet embeds itself in the back of Electro’s head, glinting through translucent flesh. The gunshot reaches Beck’s ears a heartbeat later.

Electro pauses, the light in his hand fizzling out. Confusion ripples across his features as he reaches up to touch the intrusion, tentatively. He turns, allowing Beck to see the source- it’s his security team, standing across the room with guns drawn- and Electro _laughs._

More gunshots ring out, bullets peppering Electro’s body like a dartboard. It’s almost fascinating to watch, the bullets sticking in the blue matter like it’s some kind of gel. They don’t seem to phase Electro at all. He fully disregards Beck for the moment and starts towards the gunmen, his hands alighting with energy.

Beck takes his chance. Quietly as he can manage, he scrambles to his feet and makes a break towards Peter’s room, broken arm held to his chest and pained cries held behind his teeth.

_Please let him be okay._

~*~

Peter wakes to someone urgently shaking his shoulder.

“Peter? _Peter,_ wake up!”

Curling into himself, Peter lets out a soft groan. He doesn’t want to go to school today, his head hurts- “Five more minutes, Ben,” he mumbles out.

“What?” His uncle’s voice sounds panicked but hushed, and… actually, it’s starting to sound like someone else. “God, don’t tell me your brains are scrambled.”

Peter cracks an eye open, wincing against harsh fluorescence light. The face that greets him is most definitely not Uncle Ben, it’s-

\- drones and illusions and the roar of a train, a backhand across the face and a needle in the shoulder, _darkness darkness darkness,_ sadistic grins and cold eyes, Tony’s face warping with light before it turns into another-

_Beck._

Peter jolts upright. His limbs flail for a moment as he comes back to himself, and aching pains shoot through his muscles, leftover from the electric shock. Memories flood back to him. He looks wildly for Electro only to find the room empty, save for the wrecked drone laying on the floor. The door is completely gone, and through the doorway he can see overturned tables and broken tech, as well as hear the sounds of yelling and gunfire.

Beck is crouched down beside him, looking concerned and more beat up than Peter’s ever seen him. His hair and clothes are disheveled, and there are bruises forming on his face. But worst is his left arm. It’s held close to his body but at a completely wrong angle, with blood seeping through the sleeve of his shirt.

Peter gawks, all other thoughts fleeing his mind. “Woah, is your arm _broken?”_

“Hey, hey, hey, keep it down,” Beck hushes him, and Peter notices how pale and clammy his face is. “My guys are keeping Electro busy but I don’t wanna get his attention.”

That makes Peter suck in a sharp breath. “Electro, he’s-”

“I know, I _know,”_ Beck assures him grimly. “He hitchhiked inside my drones.”

It hits Peter that Beck _knew_ about Electro and the threat he posed, but was outwitted anyways. He doesn’t mention it. “How do we stop him?”

Beck exhales shakily. “Guns don’t do anything, and hand-to-hand is out of the question. I don’t even know how we would neutralize his powers-”

“Wait, electricity.” Peter has a sudden realization. “Water. Do you have a sprinkler system?”

“Of course we do.” Beck’s gaze is calculating. “You think that’d neutralize him?”

“It’s the best we got, unless you have a rubber suit lying around,” Peter points out. “Ca- can you activate them remotely?”

Beck’s expression tightens. “Edith’s down.”

Shit. It’s bad enough Beck no longer has control of the drones, but all the base’s defenses are-

Wait. The drones. Beck no longer has control of the drones. _All_ the drones, like the ones on Ned and MJ thousands of miles away and the door’s gone so there’s nothing keeping Peter from-

No, stop. Focus. Electro first, Beck later.

“Where’s the nearest manual switch?” Peter finally asks.

The look in Beck’s eye makes Peter think he’s guessed what thought had crossed Peter’s mind, but he doesn’t bring it up. “Outside the room, turn the right corner, down the hall.”

Peter runs a hand through his hair. “O- okay… okay, okay, you’re gonna have to run for it, I’ll- I’ll keep him distracted,” he decides, rising to his feet. An absent part of his mind points out that he’s trusting _Beck,_ of all people, but he pushes it away.

Beck follows him, grabbing his arm. “When the water comes down, anything on the floor will conduct his charge and get fried,” he says, expression severe.

Peter yanks his arm away, a rush of uncomfortable memories making him bristle. “I know.”

“You won’t be able to see when I’m about to switch it on!” Beck protests, his voice a hiss in an effort to stay quiet.

“Hey, I’ve got fast reflexes, I’ll be fine!” Peter retorts.

“Faster than the speed of water out of a sprinkler?” Beck asks, stepping between Peter and the doorway with a hard look. “Or the speed of electric charge conducted through water?”

“We’re wasting time!” Peter has to fight to stop it from coming out as a plea.

Somehow, despite getting electrocuted and having to put aside the idea of escaping, the thought that Beck _cares_ about him is the worst pill to swallow. It’s easier to stomach Beck’s treatment of him under the assumption that it doesn’t matter to Beck if he’s hurt. But the notion that Beck doesn’t mind as long as _he’s_ the one hurting Peter adds an extra layer of crazy to their relationship, and Peter’s not ready to deal with that.

Beck hesitates. “Don’t be on the ground when I turn them on,” he orders.

“I do my best work off the ground, anyways,” Peter snarks back, brushing past Beck. “Stay behind cover and don’t go until I have him fully engaged.”

“Wait,” Beck calls. “You might want these.”

Peter turns around to see Beck holding out his webshooters. Surprise floods through him, but he takes them quickly before Beck changes his mind. They slip over his hands in an instant, their weight against his wrists more noticeable than he remembers.

He only just manages to bite back a ‘thank you,’ forced out of habit. He shouldn’t _need_ to thank Beck, he had no right to take them in the first place. And it’s concerning that he’s gotten so used to-

No, focus. Those thoughts can wait for another time. There’s a supercharged blue bad guy outside and Peter has to stop him.

Peter suffices with giving Beck a nod before running out of the room.

A grim sight greets him. All the work stations that were outside his room have been upheaved. Cowering behind tables are people, Beck’s team, in various stages of disarray- cuts, bruises, burns. Some are unconscious, seeming to have been dragged out of the open by their co-workers.

Electro is down the hall a ways, his back to Peter as he hurls a man against the wall. Several others in similar uniforms are laying motionless on the ground- dead or unconscious, it’s impossible to tell from here. 

Out of the corner of Peter’s eye, he sees Beck dart behind one of the upturned tables, out of view. Peter’s voice unsticks from his throat.

“Electro!”

Electro pauses, glancing over his shoulder. Tendrils of electricity ripple through his body, giving a strange and eerie glow to the blue skin. It casts a shadow against his face, making his bright eyes nearly radioactive.

Peter suddenly feels so exposed, standing barefoot in his T-shirt and sweats. No high-tech suit, no AI assistant, no mask. But all he has to do is distract Electro long enough for Beck to turn the sprinklers on. And if he doesn’t, a lot of people are going to die.

Peter swallows and starts to approach, at a leisurely pace. “What a _shocking_ turn of events, huh?” he calls, trying to force that bravado that always makes him feel invincible. It’s a lot harder when he’s not wearing a mask and he has to fake a smile.

“Well, well. Surprised to see you up so soon,” Electro rumbles, sounding amused. He turns around to face Peter, looking him up at down. “Must be those spider powers, right?”

Peter holds a hand out, placating. “Just think about what you’re doing, okay? Why- why would you even _want_ to rule the world?”

Electro’s eyes flicker towards the webshooter on Peter’s hand, taking note. “You don’t get it,” he says, nonplussed. “Hard to find anything permanent, when you’re immortal. Everything’s so… short. And small. But this is finally something big enough for an eternal fella like me.”

Immortal? That doesn’t bode well. Peter creeps a bit closer, making sure to keep Beck’s position in his peripheral. “Okay, so- so why not do good? Be a real hero?” he counters.

“Oh, I _will_ do good.” Electro grins. “I’ll do it much better than this joker could. And I don’t mind if I have to get my hands dirty.” He shrugs, waving a hand. “What’s a few human lives, in the name of worldwide security?”

And therein lies the problem of having an immortal overseer; mortal lives have become insignificant to him. Peter takes a breath. “I can’t let that happen.”

“Then you’ve made your choice.” Electro only looks slightly disappointed as he raises his hand to fire.

Peter’s anticipating it and is already in the air, arm outstretched as he swings from a web shot.

Adrenaline kicks in, and everything gets a lot more intense. His hearing picks up things from all over- his own racing heart, the fizzle of Electro’s powers, cries of fear from trapped people, an alarm going off somewhere in the building- and without his mask it’s hard to block it out. He encounters the same problem with his vision; every little movement catches his attention, no matter how far away or in his peripheral it is.

It’s too much, too distracting, and his first attempts at dodging Electro are clumsy and near misses. It doesn’t help that he’s out of practice, muscles complaining from the strain as he runs along the walls- contact on his skin is heightened, he feels every groove beneath his bare feet, the texture of the material- not important, not important, _focus._

Blasts of electric energy nip at his heels as he manages to stay just ahead of Electro. He feels the weight of eyes on him as the people in the room look on- _the people._ He needs to get them safe and out of the way before the water comes down. Focus on that.

Peter pushes off the wall and swings over the room, other hand shooting down to snag one of the unconscious men off the ground. The sudden extra weight makes him drop a bit in the air, but he makes it to the other side, hastily sticking the man to the wall before darting away.

And thus begins Peter’s most challenging game of dodgeball ever, where the balls are shots of electric energy powerful enough to burn his face off and his opponent can fly and the objective is to throw people against the wall with web so they don’t get electrocuted, and he doesn’t even know how long he has before-

\- footsteps, soft and quick as Beck bolts from cover to cover, and Peter has to stop himself from looking and giving him away, twisting just in time to avoid another blast. 

“You can’t save them,” Electro calls. There’s a predatory nature to the way he moves; a slow, unbothered approach, as if he knows the chase will mean nothing in the end. He doesn’t seem fast enough to catch Peter, but maybe he simply doesn’t care enough to try. And while Peter is already tiring from the exertion, Electro has yet to break a sweat.

“Not with that attitude!” Peter throws back. He lands behind a table, where two of Beck’s team are cowering with wide eyes. “Hope you aren’t scared of heights,” he jokes before web shooting them to the wall. Then he hurls the table at Electro, distracting him enough to leap away once more.

In this erratic sort of pattern, Peter manages to get the people up out of harm’s way. Electro is still focused only on him, thankfully. Kind of like a cat toying with a mouse. But that’s fine, as long as he leaves the people alone. Peter’s lost track of Beck, but he can only hope he’s still on track with their plan and hasn’t been taken out by a stray shot.

The last people are sheltering behind some big machine that’s been busted. There’s a woman leaning over an unconscious man. Peter recognizes her from seeing her around enough, but can’t place a name; she’s wearing glasses, disheveled hair spilling out of a bun, and while her elbows are scraped raw from the initial explosion, she looks otherwise unharmed.

The unconscious man, however, is Virgil.

Peter lands beside them. “Is he okay?” he asks breathlessly.

“He has a pacemaker,” the woman says, her face severe. “He was close when that first electric pulse went off, I managed to get him breathing again with CPR but another hit could totally fry it.”

Peter’s own heart jolts. “Okay,” he says, struggling to sound calm, “we’ll try to avoid frying.”

He tosses her into the air and fires his webshooters, sticking her to the wall. Then he scoops Virgil over his shoulder and swings away, just as a blast from Electro hits the machine. A small explosion results, the wake of it warming the back of his neck with hot air.

Peter just barely manages to get Virgil secured against the wall when his webshooters click and stop shooting. He’s out of web. The realization makes him curse under his breath- Beck’s team must not keep his webshooters completely full, for whatever reason.

Fine, that’s fine. Peter leaps to the ground instead, rolling into his landing. He can keep Electro engaged on the floor and jump back to the wall when the water comes- even without web, he’ll stick to it and be totally safe.

Electro’s waiting for him on the ground, hands on his hips as he survey’s Peter’s handiwork. “You’re a real funny kid, you know that?” he chuckles. “These folks have been keepin’ you locked up here for… what, two months now? Why do you care what happens to ‘em?”

Peter shrugs. “Guess that’s just the kind of hero I am.”

“Cute.” Electro turns away from Peter. “Ready to see what kind _I_ am?”

Electro lifts his arm to aim at Virgil.

Electric energy bursts to life in Electro’s hand, and Peter’s already running. He can run pretty fast, faster than most normal people, but it’s still not as fast as a web shot would be and he’s cursing Beck again for it. Luckily there’s not much distance between them, and if Peter can throw off the trajectory even _just a little bit,_ then Virgil will be fine.

And then a sensation like pins and needles crawls through his skin, a voice in his mind screaming _look out look out look out!_ High above them, the sprinkler faucets whir to life.

Everything seems to slow down, water droplets descending from above in slow-motion like the deadliest rain he’s ever seen. They’ll be on the ground in less than a second.

It comes to Peter with startling clarity. He can continue running towards Electro to knock off his aim and prevent Virgil from being hit. Or, he can turn and jump onto the wall to safety. 

He can’t do both.

In the end, it’s not even a question. Peter crashes against Electro, his hand knocking Electro’s aside as the energy bolt goes off. He can see that it’s off-course and will land harmlessly on an empty spot of the wall. But he doesn’t get to see it happen, because a heartbeat later, he registers the feeling of water on his head.

The floor is coated instantly, Peter’s feet now standing in a shallow puddle of it. But more importantly, _Electro’s_ now standing in it.

There’s a blinding flash of light. Pain tears through every bit of Peter, like his own muscle is ripping itself apart and liquid fire courses through his veins. It’s _excruciating,_ overloading his senses beyond capacity so there’s nothing but pain, pain, pain-

Darkness.

~*~


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Warnings:** Language, injury, minor character death mention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Helloooo readers, hope you’re all doing well! The Electro arc is drawing to its end, it’s been so much fun bringing a new take to the character and it means a lot that you guys enjoyed it! We’re shifting to a new phase in the story that I’ve really been looking forward to, so please keep up your wonderful support and we’ll see this thing through to the end, yet! - Aqua

Chapter Twenty-One

~*~

The sprinklers whirl to life.

Beck steps away from the wall, blinking against the sudden downpour. Cradling his broken arm to his body, he turns to make his way back to the main room when the sound of screaming hits him. It’s an absolutely earsplitting scream, and it sounds like Peter.

Beck starts running. He rounds the corner and is greeted by the sight of two figures on the ground, laying in a shallow puddle of water.

Electro is curled up tightly, face slack and eyes closed. All the light in his body has condensed into one point deep within his chest, like the energy is trying to get as far away from the water as possible. It leaves the rest of his figure a dull, translucent bluish-gray. Stiff and motionless. Not currently a concern.

Peter, on the other hand, is Beck’s primary concern. The kid’s not moving either, and as Beck gets closer, he notices the burning smell in the air. A sick feeling cinches his stomach as he realized what must’ve happened.

“Peter?” Beck falls to the floor beside Peter, water sloshing around him. “Peter, wake up!”

His good hand hovers over Peter’s shoulder before he thinks better of it. The kid was just electrocuted, and they’re both soaked with water. Beck has no way of knowing if there’s any charge left on him. Not to mention he doesn’t know what injuries Peter might’ve sustained and if moving him could potentially make them worse.

“Damn it, Peter,” Beck hisses through gritted teeth, “I _told you_ not to be on the ground. Edith?” He holds his watch up, catching his breath. Now that Electro’s out of the system, Edith should be able to perform an automatic reboot and-

_“Hello, sir.”_

Beck could cry. “Edith, darling, I’ve never been more happy to hear your voice. Activate all emergency protocols for me, pronto, and patch me through to the intercoms.”

Sirens whine throughout the building as lockdown initiates. Thick plating drops down over the perimeter building walls, blocking off all the windows and doors. After a brief second of darkness, the emergency lights kick on, a red light washing over the room. The sprinkler rain catches it in flashes, looking eerily like drops of blood.

_“You are now patched through.”_

Beck clears his throat. “All personnel, coast clear. Report to floor one immediately. Someone bring the crash cart from the medic wing, and grab our web reversal solute from the labs- and a ladder. Rubber gloves and boots can be found in the storage closets, I’d recommend wearing them to be safe. Beck, out.”

The click of the intercom echoes through the cavernous room, and Beck is left with nothing but the faint sound of rain and his own labored breathing.

He can’t tear his gaze away from Peter, worried that if he’s not there to witness the ever-so-slight rise and fall of Peter’s chest, it’ll stop. The water has plastered his hair to his forehead and drenched his clothes, making him look like a drowned kitten. His eyes stay completely, stubbornly shut. No sign of movement from him except the occasional muscle spasm- which is probably a bad thing. It looks like only the bottoms of his feet are badly burned, but Beck knows that if Peter was standing upright in the water, it’s likely the current traveled throughout his entire body and could’ve singed a few organs on the way. Beck won’t have any idea what the extent of the damage is until everything gets back under control.

But Peter’s still breathing. Beck clings to that.

Though it feels like a lifetime, it’s only a few minutes before things descend into a somewhat organized chaos as more people arrive on the scene. Electro is contained first; zipped into an insulating suit and locked in a room for the time being. Only then do the sprinklers come off, even though Electro has shown no signs of movement since the surge.

Next comes the task of freeing the people who were webbed to the walls during the fight, and tending to their injuries. Beck notices Virgil is among the first to be revived; his medical expertise has prioritized him. Beck’s own injuries are looked at quickly too, his arm put into a sling for now until X-rays can be done.

Peter is also a priority, handled carefully by people with rubber gloves on to dispel any latent electricity. He’s lifted onto a gurney and wheeled away, with a parting promise to Beck that they’ll do everything they can.

It’ll have to be enough.

~*~

It’s fourteen hours before Beck can get in to see Peter again.

The medic wing isn’t the most impressive thing. It’s a level with a couple isolated rooms and some rows of beds, mostly intended to handle day-to-day occupational hazards or a bout of the stomach flu. Fortunately, Beck was overly prepared and made sure it was at least equipped with all the essentials of a typical emergency room, even if only one of each machine. It hasn’t been used since the facility’s construction, but now every bed is occupied. Talk about a christening.

Beck’s arm is indeed broken and, now that he’s got a proper cast on it, feels ten pounds heavier. The sling is uncomfortable and presses against his ribcage in unpleasant ways- ribs that are, luckily, just badly bruised. His other various bumps and scrapes are nonconcerns. Could’ve been worse.

The repairs to the drones and surveillance system are already underway. Edith has done a thorough sweep of media to confirm they didn’t attract any unwanted attention, and are still safely hidden.

Three security guards were killed. Replacements are being found. Everyone else got away with minor injuries; fractures and concussions from the initial explosion, first-degree burns from too-close electric shots, various bruises from Peter’s webbing.

Everything’s slowly coming back under control. So why does Beck feel like the room hasn’t stopped spinning?

Virgil’s the only one in the room when Beck gets there. He’s sitting in a chair by Peter’s bed, flipping through a folder full of papers.

Peter’s still unconscious, and hooked up to several big machines with all kinds of tubes. A clear mask over his mouth holds one down his throat, condensation fogging and receding with each breath. There’s a quiet beeping sound from one of the machines, a screen showing the peaks of Peter’s heartbeat.

Underneath all the equipment, Peter looks fine. There’s not even a scratch or a bruise on him- but of course, Beck can’t see the state of his feet under the sheets. And his normal appearance makes it all the more unnerving, that he’s in this serious a state.

Virgil looks up from his papers at Beck’s entry. “Oh hey there, have a seat.”

Beck takes the empty chair on the other side of Peter’s bed. “How are you doing?”

“Better, thanks.” Virgil’s hand absently rubs at his chest, right over where his pacemaker is. “Thank god for Louise and her strong hands, even if she did damn near break my ribs.”

Beck smiles thinly. “Yeah, I feel you.”

“It is what it is.” Virgil turns to wave a hand at Peter’s bed. “He’s stable but unresponsive, looks like he’s slipped into some kind of coma. His organs are functioning normally for the most part, we think they sustained some damage but it’s mostly outer later. It’s just his lungs that need extra support right now, so we’ve got him on a ventilator until he can breathe on his own. His feet are burned pretty bad, second-degree, but those should clear up in time. Until he wakes up, we clearly won’t know the extent of the lasting effects, but overall, it seems he’ll be alright.”

Beck processes the information, his brows furrowing. “Alright, huh? Well, tell me this, Virgil.” He leans forward in his seat- as much as his injuries will allow him. “Is it normal for people to go into a coma after an electric shock?”

Virgil lets out a slow, heavy breath. “No, not really.”

Beck pointedly raises his eyebrows. “Then what gives?”

Virgil runs a hand over his closely shorn hair. “My guess would be that his healing abilities are taking over to try and repair the damage, and that’s taking all his energy right now. But I don’t know enough about his powers to say for sure.”

Beck makes a noncommittal noise. That’s… promising, at least. “Okay.” He sits back. “Virgil, I’ve got some news you might be interested in.”

Virgil pauses, quirking an eyebrow. “What’s that, sir?”

“Did anyone tell you how Peter wound up getting electrocuted?”

A confused shadow passes over Virgil’s face. “Not specifically, no.”

Beck’s not surprised. It’s a detail he himself hadn’t learned until just a couple hours ago, with all the craziness going on. 

“He got everyone safe and off the ground, and was about to do the same himself. But then, Electro aimed a shot at you. Right as the sprinklers came on.” Beck looks at his hand as he talks, and manages to keep his voice disinterested. “Peter knocked Electro off-balance so that the shot missed hitting you. But it left him on the ground when the water came down. And standing _right next_ to that electric freak.”

There's a stiff, harsh moment of silence between them.

“I… didn’t know,” Virgil says finally. He glances over at Peter, his expression clouding. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Beck replies, shrugging his shoulder. Despite the way he’s burning up inside.

Virgil gives him a look, from the corner of his eye. “You wish he hadn’t?” he asks, his voice soft and unaccusing. 

Beck bristles. “That’s not what I’m saying.” 

The truth is, Beck doesn’t know _what_ he’s saying. Of course he doesn’t like that Peter got himself electrocuted over Virgil. But it’s not like he would’ve wanted Virgil to get killed, either. And it’s possible Peter would’ve done the same no matter _who_ Electro had aimed at. Even if they weren’t Virgil with his pacemaker, a direct electric shot like that might’ve been deadly to anyone else. It was probably just… Peter getting caught up with his damn hero complex.

Virgil purses his lips, but doesn’t press the issue. “I’ll do what I can, but I’m _not_ a doctor, and I’m definitely not a specialist in… Spider-Man biology.”

“It’s alright, no one is,” Beck amends. “Thank you, Virgil. I’d like to stay in with him.”

It’s very clearly not framed as a request. Virgil gives a nod. “That’s fine. Just don’t touch anything, obviously. We’ll be close by, got some other folks with minor injuries to look at, so give a buzz if you need anything.”

Beck gives a two-fingered salute. “Will do.”

Virgil lingers for a second to take one last look at Peter before slipping out of the room. His figure moves past the frosted glass and out of view, leaving Beck alone.

Beck leans back in his chair with a drawn-out sigh, closes his eyes, and waits.

~*~

Beck’s not sure how many hours have passed before there’s a knock on the door.

He hurriedly sits up in his chair and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He didn’t mean to fall asleep. “Yeah?”

The door cracks open, and one of his technicians pokes her head into the room. He’s not as familiar with this newer hire- Jen, maybe? Jan? “Sorry to disturb you, sir,” she apologizes.

“It’s no problem,” Beck assures her. The dim lighting from the hallway tells him it’s probably late at night, so he keeps his voice low. “Come on in. What’s up?”

Jan- she looks like a Jan, anyways- opens the door to reveal a familiar drone sitting on a little cart. “Well, while we were repairing Herod, we found something.”

“Oh?” Beck studies the drone, noting it’s still quite busted in some places. They estimated that Herod was the initial contact point Electro emerged from, and it had been damaged in the explosion. He hadn’t given it much thought beyond that. “By all means.”

Jan pulls the cart into the room. “So, the drone’s surveillance system automatically uploads its audio and video footage as it records. Turns out, Electro had grafted a repeating splice over the feed so that our monitors were just seeing the same image. But the real footage was uploaded, audio too. Electro actually spoke with Peter before the attack.” Her gaze drifts over to Peter, softening a bit. “It’s loaded up for you.”

Beck inhales sharply. “Let me see it. Alone,” he adds, as an afterthought. He doesn’t trust his composure right now and his team has already seen him unraveled enough for one day.

Jan dips her head. “Of course.” She leans the cart handle against the wall and leaves.

Beck stares hard at Herod for a moment before clearing his throat. “Herod, play recording.”

The hologram flickers to life, showing a slightly grainy image of Peter’s room, and starts to play.

Beck watches it. And watches it again. By the end of it, his good hand is gripping the arm of his chair so tightly his knuckles are red.

That bastard. That _absolute bastard._ Trying to turn Peter against them- though, could it really be considered turning if he was never on their side to begin with? But Beck’s more peeved about what came after; knowing Peter got shocked and actually _seeing_ it are two entirely different things.

Electro’s lucky he’s locked away right now.

But Beck’s anger quickly burns away into something more… hollow. Peter didn’t sell them out. In fact, he defied Electro and took it upon himself to warn them by smashing the drone.

Which allowed Beck’s security team to be alerted and reach the scene sooner. And sure, maybe it was only a few seconds sooner, but it was enough that they stopped Electro right before he killed Beck. If they’d shown up even two seconds later, it would’ve been too late.

Peter saved Beck’s life.

More than that, he saved Beck’s life at the expense of his own wellbeing. It’s safe to say that shock would’ve done way more damage on a normal human, but it couldn’t have been a pleasant experience. It’d knocked Peter unconscious, and Electro could’ve easily finished the job, he just hadn’t known Peter would recover as fast as he did. All things Peter must’ve been aware of, to some degree. He’s a smart kid, after all.

On top of this, he saved Beck’s life at the expense of his freedom. Electro had shown up to hand-deliver the perfect victory, offering Peter the chance to be rid of Beck and Edith forever. His friends would’ve been safe, too, and Peter could’ve walked out of here with nothing stopping him from getting back to his life. All while being secure in the knowledge that Beck would never be able to hurt anyone else ever again.

But even after two months of isolation, humiliation, and near torture, Peter still didn’t have it in him to let Beck get killed. That’s an incredible amount of willpower.

A superhuman amount, one might say.

Beck rubs his face with his hand. For the millionth time, he wonders how he got here. It was never supposed to be this complicated. Spider-Man ended up being a useful tool in Mysterio’s agenda, sure. But he didn’t need to keep Peter alive after that. Actually, if he’s being honest, he could’ve faked the scene without all their footage of Peter, it just would’ve been less convincing. And no matter which way he looks at it, he didn’t have to put Peter through everything he has. There’s no logical, rational explanation for what he’s done to Peter.

Maybe there never was.

Everything seemed so clear at the start. Part experiment, part spite; take Stark’s personal pet project prodigy and see if he could bend him to his side. Ruin one of the last living remnants of Stark’s legacy. Just to add insult to injury, just to see if he could. But Beck was never meant to get this… invested.

It shouldn’t matter if Peter dies. Oh well, fun’s over, back to business. His friends would have to die too, to tie up any loose ends, but that shouldn’t matter, either. At the end of the day, Beck’s got bigger and better things to focus on; namely, securing his role as the savior of humanity while Edith spins a surveillance network so tight that the whole world will fall under his control. They’re grand plans, maybe too grand, if he didn’t have the means to back it up.

So why let himself get distracted? Beck’s better than this. He wouldn’t call himself a stoic guy; he’s got a temper, he knows, and he feels emotions keenly. That’s why he’s so good at manipulating them in other people. But surely he’s not so blind as to let his emotions keep him from his real goals? He’s too ambitious for that. Too driven. After all, look at what he’s accomplished already! He can’t let that go.

Peter was dangerously close to getting out. And if Peter gets out, Beck’s whole operation is blown, with no chance of ever recovering. All his hard work, for nothing. He’d be looking at life in prison, easily, if they decided to even be _that_ lenient. And so would his entire team, as accomplices.

He’s putting everything on the line- and for what? His selfish, petty desire to mess with a teenager whose only wrong against him was catching Stark’s eye? Peter couldn’t help that Stark chose him, and Beck doesn’t even blame Stark for doing so. Peter’s brilliant.

But it’s now apparent how much of a risk he is.

Beck lets his gaze sweep over Peter. The kid looks small, and young. His face is perfectly slack, not a single line in his face except the harsh, jagged scar Beck’s given him. Beck does regret that particular injury happening- purely unintentional, but his fault nonetheless. It’s the only thing detracting from Peter’s peaceful expression.

He could just be sleeping. Not trapped in an electrocution-induced coma in a secret supervillain’s lair. This Peter doesn’t know he’s a prisoner, that his life is forfeit, that he’s caught up in a web of threats and power plays and mad schemes.

Beck’s gaze falls on the life support system.

Maybe it’s time to let Peter go. It’d be easy- just reach over and shut the machine off. With nothing to keep him breathing, Peter would be gone quickly. Fast and painless. Like… going to sleep and never waking up. No matter what afterlife you do or don’t believe in, it’s not a bad way to go. No pain, no struggle, no fear.

Peter would be free of him, and Beck would be free of Peter. No more distraction from his plans, no more risk to his team. No more questions and confusing feelings Beck can’t answer. It’d be better this way, for everyone. 

And this way, Beck doesn’t have to watch the life in Peter’s eyes die.

Beck stares at the shut-off switch. The shut-off switch seems to stare back at him, like a solitary red eye. Not judging or condemning. Just waiting. The faint, steady beep of the heart monitor plays in the background, blissfully unaware of its impending end.

All Beck has to do is reach forward and-

_“You have one pending notification.”_

The sudden voice makes Beck jump violently in his seat. Wildly, he looks around, but finds himself still alone, the door closed, before his gaze rests on Herod. The drone is still sitting where it was, but now there’s a blinking red light on it.

Beck exhales slowly, feeling his heartrate climb back down. “What is it?” he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Herod’s voice comes again.

_“You asked me to set a reminder for: ‘my birthday,’ on August 27. Happy birthday, Peter.”_

Through the still-damaged speakers, a song starts to play. It’s that rock band Peter’s so fond of, gritty and garbled with static. It fills the silent room like a firework show; loud, explosive, and potentially damaging to the eardrums. It’s also vibrant and bursting with life, just like Peter. 

Beck glances at the shut-off switch again. Then he closes his eyes.

He lets the song play.

~*~


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Warnings:** Language, minor description of injury, mentions of death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hey readers! Sorry for the unplanned hiatus, things got pretty crazy pretty fast. Between my school going online, works hours increasing (vet clinics are essential, yaaay), and difficulties with my GRE test prep, I was seriously thrown off my rhythm for a while there. I’d like to say I can get back to regular updates now but it’s impossible to tell. So, thank you all for your patience and continued support! Hopefully this longer chapter makes up for it. - Aqua

Chapter Twenty-Two

~*~

When Peter wakes up, Beck is notified immediately.

Edith reports that Peter seems calm for the moment, but Beck doesn’t want to keep him waiting. It’s a brisk walk back to the medic wing, the conversation he was in the middle of abruptly disregarded with a murmur of apology. They’re still getting back on their feet and there’s a lot to do, but it can all wait for this.

Peter’s sitting up, looking around blearily. It takes him a second to focus in on Beck. When he does, there’s a shift in his expression, rapid-fire filtering through several emotions until it settles on alarm.

“Where’s Electro?” His voice is weak and raspy from disuse, but full of urgency. As haggard as he looks, there’s still intensity in his eyes, a hard line of determination setting his jaw. Beck would bet that if he said Electro was still loose in the facility, there’d be no stopping Peter from jumping out of bed and rushing to the fight, despite his condition.

“Taken care of,” Beck says, sliding into the chair beside Peter’s bed. “The water disabled his powers like we hoped, and now he’s locked up.”

What Beck doesn’t mention is _how_ Electro’s locked up. While Electro was still unconscious from the waterworks, Beck decided early on he wasn’t just going to keep him zipped up in a rubber suit and call it a day. The guy can travel through electric circuits, so he has to have a non-physical form. So, it was a simple matter of building a comparator, insulated in a thick layer of rubber, and attaching it to the suit. As Beck predicted, Electro’s body had transformed into pure electricity and flowed into the machine, attracted by the charge inside it. From there, it was a simple matter of locking the switch, leaving Electro trapped inside the small machine in an inhuman form. Much easier to deal with.

Beck’s even found a way to hook up the base’s generators to the little prison, allowing them to feed off the energy Electro radiates (without providing him a path out). Now the entire base is fueled by it. But Electro’s new role as a giant battery probably won’t sit well with Peter, so it’s best to leave it out.

“Oh, okay… good, that’s good.” Relief paints over Peter’s features at the information. He eases back in bed, though his features are still pinched. “I feel like shit.”

A wry smile curls Beck’s lip. “What hurts?”

“Everything.” Peter blinks up at the ceiling, concentrating. “My feet, a lot. And my stomach, my- my ribs? No, chest. Wrists too, and all over my skin like- it’s like a prickly kind of feeling? And my mouth, like I’ve got a toothache.” It seems to be coming to him in waves, as he carefully sorts through his own body, all the sensations demanding his attention.

Beck hums. “Well, your feet were pretty badly burned. The shock toasted some of your insides on its way, too, but it wasn’t anything that serious. You were on a ventilator for a few days, though.” The reminder picks at Beck uncomfortably, and he presses on. “Your wrists received minor burns; the shock fried your webshooters- don’t worry, we’re making replacements- and as for your teeth… what, do you have any dental fillings?”

“Oh, yeah, I- I do, actually.” Peter’s hand comes up to lightly brush his jaw in surprise. “Guess that explains it.”

“There ya go.” Beck waves his good hand. “The good news is, you’ve already healed up quite a bit so you should be up and moving in the next couple days, though you’ll still be pretty painful.”

Peter frowns. “When was- how long has it-”

“It’s been about a week since Electro attacked,” Beck answers.

“Wha- I was unconscious for a whole _week?”_ Peter’s eyebrows shoot up. He runs a hand through his hair. “But how- I mean, why would I-” He breaks off abruptly, his head snapping to the side as his right arm seizes. Whatever was left of his sentence is trapped in his throat, a strangled noise filtering through gritted teeth as his eyes squeeze shut.

Beck doesn’t react. He’s been watching this happen for a couple days now, this is just the first time Peter’s been awake for it. It’s… admittedly harder to watch, when he’s awake.

It passes in less than a minute, Peter exhaling shakily and looking at Beck with concern. “Wh- what was that?” he asks, a small amount of fear glistening in his eyes.

“Involuntary muscle spasm.” Beck allows his voice to soften ever-so-slightly. “One of the side-effects of electrocution. Virgil said it’ll most likely fade in the next few weeks.”

“Oh.” Peter swallows, rubbing his right arm. “That’s- how often will it happen? Is it gonna hurt that much every time?”

Beck thought it _had_ looked like a nasty one. His chest tightens with sympathy. “It’ll vary in time and intensity.” In the interest of lighting the tone, he adds, “I mean, all things considered, you were really lucky. An electric shock like that could’ve been fatal. You had us going for a while, there.”

“Yeah…” It’s Peter’s turn to examine Beck now, his gaze questioning. “Why… why bother saving me? You could’ve just let me die.”

Beck doesn’t let his expression change in the slightest as the words cut into him. The memory of what he almost did is never far from his mind, lurking beneath the surface of his conscious thoughts and emerging every time he looks at Peter, at the life support machine sitting beside his bed, no longer in use.

He didn’t try to do it again, after the first time. It was a fleeting moment that he can’t recapture, the will to kill Peter.

He still doesn’t know why he didn’t, what exactly made him stop. He has a sneaky premonition that it’s a reflection of weakness, on his part. Some soft spot that Peter’s carved into him, whether knowingly or not. And that doesn’t bode well.

Because before, Beck could at least claim that keeping Peter wasn’t doing any harm- to his operation, that is. But now that it’s been so clearly displayed that Peter’s presence is a liability, logic and reason demanded him to put an end to it, and he couldn’t. And not out of denial or overconfidence, either. He’s fully aware that the smart thing would’ve been to let Peter die, and that saving him has once again put an unnecessary risk on his entire operation. All without being able to justify why.

“I could’ve,” Beck agrees plainly. “I made a different call.”

Emotion clouds Peter’s eyes at that, unreadable. He moves past the topic for both their sakes. “Did, uh, did anyone else get hurt?”

Beck thinks of the three security guards who were killed by Electro while Peter was unconscious. In his desperate efforts to get everyone out of harm’s way, Peter had webbed them up the walls without even realizing they were dead, already beyond saving.

“A few bumps and bruises, but everyone’s alright,” Beck says. “Thanks to you.”

“Oh. Good.” Peter glances away, but his shoulders slump in relief.

There’s still a tense edge in the room. Beck can tell that Peter’s waiting for… something. Some kind of fallout. And it’d make sense, wouldn’t it? After the way Beck’s treated him? Peter’s probably expecting Beck to have something up his sleeve to make this worse, increase his suffering. Maybe expecting him to be mad that Peter risked his life to save Virgil’s.

Which- to be fair- Beck still isn’t happy about, but he’s already thought it over enough to conclude he can’t hold that against Peter. The kid’s a hero, what did Beck expect?

Beck clears his throat. “Anyways, I’m gonna let you get some rest. Herod’s all fixed up, if you wanted to watch something.” He stands up. “Is there anything you need, before I go?”

Peter looks startled, his head whipping back around. He eyes Beck warily, like it’s a trick question. “Um, can- can I have something to eat?” he ventures after a moment. “I’m starving.”

Beck shrugs his shoulder. “I’ll go check with Virgil to see if solid foods are allowed yet.”

“If they are,” Peter puts out a hand imploringly, “could I get, like- I’m seriously craving a burger, like a real juicy, meaty burger, you know?”

Beck snorts. Teenagers and their appetites. “Sure, I’ll ask if you can have a burger. No promises, though.”

Peter sighs good-naturedly. “Alright, thanks.” He seems content to turn his attention elsewhere, inspecting the bandages around his wrists and the IV line taped to his forearm.

Beck says nothing else as he leaves the room, but his mind is racing. That went significantly better than he’d been anticipating. In all the chaos since the attack, it’s been easy to forget that the last time he interacted with Peter, before their takedown of Electro, was with the Stark illusion.

Now, he’s not foolish enough to believe that Peter’s forgiven him for it. But it looks like it’s been pushed to the back of his mind for the time being. Peter was able to talk with Beck at length with only small amounts of wariness and distrust, without bringing up Stark, _and_ he even thanked him, unprompted.

At least _something_ good came out of the whole Electro thing.

It’d be wise to take advantage of it while he can. So, Beck sets off to seek out Virgil, in the hope that he can fulfil Peter’s request. And even if he can’t, the gift Beck’s planning for him should be more than enough to make up for it.

After all, it _was_ Peter’s birthday last week.

~*~

Peter drums his fingers along the bedrail, only half-watching the news story being projected by Herod on the wall.

He’s not in his usual room, but there aren’t many differences. Same white walls, white floor. But on either side of the door are windows of frosted glass- every now and then, he can make out figures passing by. The bed is a standard hospital bed with metal guardrails, and it’s flanked by some heavy machinery on either side. An IV pole sits next to him, the dripping bag feeding into the tube in his arm.

Now that Peter’s eaten- that burger had been the best thing he’s ever tasted, though his appetite still isn’t fully sated- his mind feels a little more clear. His body, however, is in rough shape.

He has yet to see what the burns on his feet look like, as they’re still concealed in bandages. But from what he can feel, it’s bad. Walking is going to be fun. It hurts to breathe too deeply, and general aches and pains flare up all over. His mouth is sore, and not just in the teeth that had cavities filled when he was younger- though he hadn’t let that stop him from digging into his meal.

As promised, muscle spasms hit at random. Most often when he goes to move. It ranges from a couple brief seconds of discomfort to minutes of burning pain that renders him motionless. It’s incredibly disorienting, and Peter doesn’t think he’ll get used to it.

The burns on his wrists must be in the blistering and peeling stage, because the urge to scratch at them is overwhelming. But the bandages are still on for good reason, so he doesn’t let himself touch them. Instead, he tries to distract himself by catching up with the news on Herod- his access to news channels is no longer restricted, he discovers.

And he quickly realizes why; there was an incident in New York a couple weeks ago involving Electro. _That’s_ how Beck knew about him beforehand. He’d probably kept it from Peter so he wouldn’t know that Beck was fumbling against a real villain- like Peter had pointed out might happen. Fortunately, no one had been hurt, other than a few minor crashes that occurred when the power to Times Square was cut. All Electro had done was goaded ‘Mysterio’ into facing him, made some threats, and disappeared.

Now, Peter realizes that’s how Electro got into the base. Through the drones that Beck uses for his illusions. There’s something mildly ironic about that, he thinks.

But as the days passed with no further Electro sightings, the focus has shifted. People have noticed that Mysterio’s been markedly absent from the public eye in the last week. Wild speculations abound, many of them involving Electro. Peter wonders what Beck’s cover story is going to be, how he’s going to explain away Electro and his abrupt hiatus. Surely he can’t turn Electro over to the authorities, because Electro knows his secret and has no reason not to expose him.

Peter supposes that he won’t be the only prisoner in Beck’s base for the long haul. Oddly, the thought is a little comforting. A little concerning, too. But mostly, it’s amusing. What’s Beck going to do, just start collecting all his adversaries and keep them locked up in his base? That’s definitely not sustainable, and Peter would bet Beck knows it.

Of course, there’s always the option of killing them. That’s a sobering thought. Maybe Beck’s even already killed Electro and was lying to Peter about it- except by all accounts, Electro seemed pretty damn unkillable. So maybe not Electro, then. But future opponents? Peter wouldn’t count the possibility out.

Hopefully it doesn’t come to that.

Peter hears footsteps from outside a second before a figure passes by the windows, knocking on the door. It’s strange that they knock- the person who brought Peter his lunch had knocked, too. It’s like they don’t see this room as a cell they have the right to enter whenever they want. Though Peter knows fully well he’s still a prisoner, it’s admittedly a nice change.

He pauses the show Herod’s playing before uncertainly calling out. “Come in?”

Beck opens the door. “Afternoon,” he greets Peter.

Peter doesn’t respond besides giving a slight nod. Beck is a… confusing subject at the moment. He went through a lot of trouble to save Peter’s life- though Peter did the same for him. But that’s easier to justify in his mind. Standing by and letting people get murdered isn’t what a hero would do, so Peter knows he made the right choice.

Beck, though… Beck’s not a hero. Despite how he pretends to be one. And he knows it, too. He’s always been upfront about the malice of his endeavors, rather than allow himself to be fooled by his own illusion. The fact that he couldn’t bring himself to kill Peter doesn’t change that.

And there’s a massive difference between killing someone and letting them die. Peter is realistic enough to recognize that Beck had the opportunity to make things much easier on himself. If Peter had died of his injuries, Beck would no longer have to worry about keeping him here, or keeping Ned and MJ under surveillance as leverage. And he wouldn’t have had the guilty conscience of being the one to end Peter’s life, himself.

So, the fact that Peter’s still here means that Beck’s motive has switched from ‘doesn’t want to kill Peter’ to ‘wants Peter to stay alive.’ A subtle but important distinction. He wonders to what end.

Peter also hasn’t forgotten the last time he saw Beck, before Electro’s attack.

The Tony illusion.

But that’s something still so raw and painful that he doesn’t _want_ to think about it. And he sure as hell doesn’t want to talk about it. He can hold it against Beck in his mind but not face-to-face, because if he does, that means remembering what it did to him. Remembering how thoroughly Beck slipped past his defenses and played off his worst insecurities, his most desperate hopes. He doesn’t want to remember it and he doesn’t want _Beck_ to remember it.

It’s in Peter’s favor if they both just act like it didn’t happen.

However, that doesn’t mean he’s totally comfortable with Beck being here. Beck has his full attention, even the pain of his injuries forgotten for the moment as he waits to see what Beck does.

He doesn’t sit down, instead just standing in front of the door. His broken arm hangs in a sling around his chest, the edge of a white cast peeking out. He never said how it was broken, but Peter can imagine.

“I’ve got a surprise,” Beck announces. “Don’t worry, it’s a good one.”

“Good by your definition or mine?” Peter asks warily.

Beck laughs at that. “Alright, valid question. But really, you’re going to like it,” he promises. Without giving Peter a chance to reply, he calls, “Herod, go ahead and connect us to Thing One and Thing Two.”

Peter frowns, glancing over at Herod. The drone beeps in affirmation before the projection changes. Two different views take up the field of view; the video feed of two different drones. At the same time, Herod’s camera light blinks on, indicating that Peter’s own image is being projected elsewhere.

But his mind screeches to a halt when he sees what- or _who-_ exactly he is being shown.

MJ, curled up on a sofa, gives a violent start and drops the book she’s holding. _“Peter?”_

“Peter, no way!” Ned, who’s jumped off his bed, stares in disbelief.

“Oh my god.” Peter is almost scared to believe it. “Ned, MJ, oh my god, it’s- it’s really you!” 

It’s the last thing he expected, to get to see Ned and MJ again. It’s like an electric jolt to his system- a good one, that is. All his pain has almost vanished, suddenly unimportant. Even the small part of his mind that warns it could all be an illusion is ignored. The reason for such a trick is unclear and _damn it,_ Peter wants this to be real.

“See, I told you you’d like it.” Beck is practically glowing. “Consider it a belated birthday present.”

“Oh. I…” Peter blinks, the pieces falling together. He’d completely forgotten- he’s been seventeen for a few days now, hasn’t he? That little detail doesn’t hit him as much as it should, easily passed over in the excitement of seeing MJ and Ned again. “Thank you.”

Beck nods. “In favor of maintaining the illusion of privacy, I’m gonna step out and let you talk. Of course, this transmission is being monitored, and if you try anything funny, you’ll get cut off.”

Ah, now that sounds more like Beck. “Of course,” Peter agrees, returning his gaze to the projection. He doesn’t further acknowledge as Beck leaves the room, more preoccupied by finding _something_ to say. The situation is so abrupt and unexpected that he’s completely unprepared.

Ned and MJ seem similarly taken aback. MJ’s switching rapidly between looking around the room and scanning the image in front of her, gaze sharp and calculating, but with tentative hope glimmering just behind her eyes. Ned’s mouth hangs open wordlessly, one hand clasped in his hair as if he meant to drag it through but was sidetracked by his shock.

“I- I can’t believe it, how are you guys?” Peter settles on finally.

“How are _we?_ Peter, how are _you?”_ MJ is quick to turn the question on him, her eyes glinting with a telltale shine. “We’ve been worried out of our minds.”

“You have?” Despite the excitement, guilt pricks at Peter’s heart. “Hey, I’m, uh- I’m sorry about that. I never meant for this to happen. He got the drop on me and it’s just been…” He struggles for a word, waving his hand. “Crazy.”

MJ’s brows pinch together. “Stop, it’s not your fault.”

“Yeah,” Ned agrees immediately, “don’t blame yourself.”

Peter shakes his head, his eyes starting to sting. “No, I know, I’m just- I’m sorry you got caught up in all this, okay?”

A sudden clarity has seized Peter, one that he needs them to understand. The last time they spoke, he wasn’t fully there. He didn’t get to say a real goodbye, or tell them everything he wanted to tell them. And in the event that he never gets to talk to them again, he has to make sure they know.

“I’m just really glad to see you, that you’re okay,” Ned says softly. “I mean, _are_ you? Aside from the obvious stuff.”

Peter wipes at his face. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine-”

And of course, at this moment, a muscle spasm decides to seize him. He can’t help the sudden gasp as his entire left arm locks up, hot pins and needles attacking all his nerves. He grabs at it with his other hand, squeezing his eyes shut against the sudden pain.

Absently, he hears Ned and MJ.

“Are you okay?!” 

“Peter, what’s happening?”

Peter breathes through it, a tremendous effort. In a couple seconds, the muscles in his arm relax, leaving him shaky but unfrozen. He rubs at his arm, wincing. What unfortunate timing.

“Sorry you had to see that,” he says, and means it.

“God, Peter.” MJ’s hand is covering her mouth, her eyes wide with dread. “What did he _do_ to you?”

It takes Peter a second to realize. “What, _him?_ No, _no,_ this- he didn’t do this, it was-” He pauses. He doesn’t know if Electro is an off-limits topic or not. “… someone else. Beck actually saved me. Or, I guess, it was a collective effort on the part of his uh, his crew, but they saved my life. This is a side-effect.”

Ned’s eyebrows shoot up. “Of _what?”_

“Electrocution…?” At their horrified expressions, Peter quickly presses on. “It’s not as bad as it sounds, I- I promise! I’ve already healed a lot and- and the spasms are supposed to go away in a few weeks.”

MJ purses her lips. “That… still sounds pretty bad,” she says lowly. “Healed a lot- meaning you were way worse off, not too long ago.”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise. He supposes a ventilator constitutes as ‘worse off,’ but he’s definitely not going to mention _that_ to them. “If it makes any difference, I wasn’t supposed to get hurt,” he adds helpfully. “It was… an accident. Of sorts.” Sure, Electro had _meant_ to electrocute him, but Electro getting into the base was an accident- on Beck’s part, that is.

But Peter doesn’t want to mince words. Right now, Ned and MJ are fearing the worst about his imprisonment with Beck and he wants to alleviate their fears as much as he’s able. It’d be extra stress heaped on them, if they thought he was being tortured or something. In fact, it might be enough to make them do something reckless. Something that makes Beck decide they’re too risky to keep alive.

“I’m okay, you guys, honest,” Peter continues, ignoring the second, smaller muscle spasm that’s started seizing his leg under the sheets. “And… and I think I _will_ be okay. So- so don’t try and… you know… everything’s gonna be fine, alright? Just stay safe. I- I _need_ to know that you guys are safe, that you’ll stay safe.”

That’s the truth. Peter doesn’t know what he’d do if anything happened to them. Something stupid, most likely. Something that’d probably get him killed.

MJ lets out a slow breath. “Alright,” she relents, her voice wavering. “We’ll be safe.”

“As safe as we can be in Queens,” Ned adds under his breath.

Peter manages a small laugh. “Thanks, guys. Really. And- and Ned…” He sobers. While he’d like to be optimistic, he can’t rule out the possibility that he won’t get to see them again. Not after almost dying. “Just… thanks for always being there for me, you know?” 

Ned’s expression is pained. “Of course.”

“And MJ…” Peter hesitates, his throat tightening. It’s just him, Ned, and MJ… and who knows how many of Beck’s team monitoring the call. Beck himself, too, most likely. So all of a sudden, it doesn’t matter how many times he’s thought about what he’d say to MJ, when he finally worked up the courage to tell her how he felt. In this moment, all his words have left him.

But MJ nods. “I know,” she says quietly. A sad half-smile pulls at her lips. “Me too.”

Peter swallows. “Okay, good. That’s good.” His heart is beating frantically, his face warm with a blush that he hopes doesn’t show. “I, uh-”

Anything else he might say is forgotten as he hears footsteps approaching from the hallway. Urgently, he looks between Ned and MJ, taking in their appearances as much as he can, for every second he’s able. “You guys mean a lot to me, o- okay, so take care of each other and- and try not to worry about me. I’ll be alright, so…” He flounders for a moment; why does ‘goodbye’ have to feel so final?

“See you later, Peter,” Ned says, picking up his intention.

“Yeah, we’ll see you,” MJ agrees, her voice a promise and a challenge all in one.

Peter exhales in a laugh. “See you,” he offers, lifting a hand in parting. 

As Peter expected, Beck opens the door. “Alright, time’s up. Herod, end transmission.”

The drone shuts off. Ned and MJ’s faces disappear, leaving Peter staring once again at a blank white wall. He doesn’t let himself react, though the ache of losing them again is sharp. It wasn’t enough time, nowhere near- but it was more than he’d ever thought he’d get. That’d have to be enough.

“Well, what’d you think?” Beck asks, pleased with himself. “That was nice, wasn’t it?”

“Thank you,” Peter says quietly, not looking at Beck. He hates to inflate the man’s ego, but it’d be a bigger mistake not to show how appreciative he was of this. He knows Beck likes having him feel indebted, to better control him. Maybe if he keeps up appearances, he’ll get to talk to them more in the future.

But rather than goad him about it, Beck sighs. “I could say the same to you.”

“What?” That makes Peter startle, head jerking up to meet Beck’s gaze.

Beck shrugs his shoulder, absently picking at his cast. “Herod managed to store the footage of you and Electro. I saw that you had a chance to throw us under the bus, but you didn’t. So, y’know.” The corner of his mouth pulls up in a grin, and it’s almost… genuine. “Consider that my thank you.”

For a moment, Peter doesn’t know what to say. “It… it was the right thing to do.” And then, because the sincerity is making him uncomfortable, he rolls his eyes and adds, “don’t read too much into it.”

Beck snorts. “Then I guess the same could be said for me, not letting you die from your injuries?”

Again, Peter’s taken aback. He knows Beck can read him well, but it’s always surprising to have it shown to him so starkly. “I... yeah, I guess so.”

“Good.” Beck nods. “So we’ll call it even, then?”

“Even.” Peter huffs a laugh at that. “Even, sure, I- I like that.” It’s laughable, to think they could ever be on even ground with the way Beck’s orchestrated everything. With everything he’s done to Peter. But at the very least, this means neither of them will have to spend time questioning their choice, or wondering why the other did what they did.

It was just the right thing to do. That’s simpler. Peter could really use ‘simple’ right now.

“Alright then.” Beck seems satisfied. “You get some rest. Virgil wants to start physical therapy by the end of the week, so you’ll need your strength.”

“Ah, yeah.” Peter winces at the thought. “I will.”

With a lazy one-armed wave, Beck leaves the room. The silence that falls is poignant, and Peter activates Herod again, if only to have something to fill it. But he’s not paying attention, not even close. His mind is racing, replaying the talk over and over again in his head. Committing each word, each expression to memory.

_See you,_ they’d said. Peter wants so badly to believe that he will.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Hope you enjoyed, please comment if you did and I'll see you next time! - Aqua


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Warnings:** Mild body horror, dysphoria, blood, injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Sorry this one’s a little late, everyone! If you’ve seen my Tumblr, you know that two of my siblings have had Covid-19 for the last two weeks. They both recovered at home with mild symptoms and are now perfectly fine, it was just difficult to focus on writing. PLUS, Beck didn’t want to play nice with Mariah, so there’s that. But here we are! Now that things have settled down with Electro, we can begin the most fun arc of all. I hope you enjoy, **please leave a comment** if you did! - Aqua

Chapter Twenty-Three

~*~

Beck unceremoniously drops the box onto Hill’s desk.

Hill raises her eyebrows at him, the rest of her face impassive as stone. “You’ve been busy,” she notes, her tone absent of both condemnation and approval.

Beck gives a rueful smile. She has no idea how true that statement is.

Now that Peter’s on the upward swing of recovery, Beck has finally turned his attention back to his operation. Mysterio had been missing from the public eye for weeks, so obviously he needed something big to come back with. Such an opportunity has been graciously provided to him by the loose end known as Electro.

The first step was staging a battle. Beck chose Philadelphia as the setting, both because of its large population size and its proximity to New York, Electo’s last known location. It was easy enough to create the illusion. Electro showed up and started causing havoc- nothing deadly, just destructive- then Mysterio swooped in to save the day.

After trading blows back and forth, ensuring the fight was lasting long enough to get news coverage on it, the stakes were ramped up. The illusion Electro drained a nearby power grid (which, of course, was just a trick of his team hacking the grid’s system) and transformed into his pure electrical form, spewing some threats about destroying the world. They don’t have a _lot_ of recordings of Electro’s voice, but it was enough to clip together a convincing speech, if Beck does say so himself.

And then Mysterio unleashed his secret weapon; a nifty little gadget that condenses and contains electrical energy. Electro got sucked into the box, bing, bang, boom, the day is saved.

After that, Beck immediately had his illusion fly to Hill’s base of operations, located in the old Avengers compound, to drop off the captured Electro. The ‘containment unit’ is an unassuming little insulated box with what’s essentially an electric bomb inside of it. So, any readings Hill’s team performs will match what they’d expect.

The real Electro is still contained under the floorboards of Beck’s facility, but it’s unlikely Hill’s team will be able to tell the difference. They didn’t really have a chance to become familiar with him.

Beck keeps his arms folded; his real arm is still in a sling, so his illusion can’t be waving it around now that it’s mimicking his movements. “Sorry for disappearing,” he says. “Once I realized Electro had access to the internet, I knew I had to go off the grid to take him out or else he’d see me coming.”

Hill nods slowly, investigating the box with sharp eyes. “How’d you know this would work?” she asks.

The lie comes readily to Beck’s tongue. “It’s based off something we used back on my world, to contain people whose powers were unstable- for whatever reason. Took me awhile to get everything I needed to build it. I just added an insulating layer to it so he can’t transfer his charge to anything else.” He shrugs. “Of course, you’re more than welcome to put it in whatever secure cell you want as an added measure, just don’t open the box itself.”

Hill meets his gaze evenly. “We don’t make a habit of keeping our prisoners locked in non-corporeal forms. He’s still a person, he has due rights.”

Beck turns his expression solemn. “You saw what he turned into. If he gets out, he’ll destroy everything. Keeping him contained like this is the only way.”

Hill narrows her eyes at him. “We’ll see.”

Beck isn’t concerned about what might happen if Hill tries to open the box and let Electro out. It’s rigged to explode upon any tampering in a way that’ll make it look like a simple overload- completely untraceable to any action on his part. All the energy will be expelled in an electrical wave that may or may not cause some damage on its way out, but that’s not the goal. The goal is to make it look like Electro has been eradicated, scattered to the wind as electrical charge that dissipated into the natural energy flow of the universe. And if such a thing were to occur, it’d be on Hill, not Beck.

But he doesn’t think it’ll come to that. Hill’s hard to read, but if she’s anything like Fury, her conscience won’t be too bothered by keeping ‘Electro’ locked up in the box.

Beck holds her gaze steadily. “I know you weren’t happy about what I said after Peter’s death. As a show of good faith, I’m turning Electro over to you. But let me be clear about something.” He lowers his voice for effect. “My world was destroyed. I’ve defeated the monster that did it, but there’s nothing for me to go back to. So, now I’m here. And I’m not going to let anything, or any _one,_ threaten the safety of this world.”

Hill gives him a tight-lipped smile. “In that, we agree. Thank you for your assistance.”

Beck nods stiffly, giving the box a final look before turning and flying away.

Once his illusion has cleared the surveillance range of Hill’s compound, Beck gets the all-clear chime in his ear. The drone’s feed falls out of view as his helmet lifts up. Blinking, his eyes adjust to the light in the stage. The rest of his illusion suit is pulled off by the automatic assemblers he installed in the platform- so convenient, especially with his arm in its current state.

All around the stage, teammates are stationed in front of monitors, double checking the footage and scanning networks to make sure he didn’t raise any alarms. The drone he used to project his illusion is headed to the satellite to be scanned for any damage, bugs, or tracers before returning to base; that’s a mistake Beck only had to make once. 

Beck clears his throat. “Alright everyone, good work,” he calls, his voice echoing slightly in the large room. “Another successful mission for Mysterio, congrats!”

Scattered cheers go up in response, contentment replacing the tense excitement in the air. With a good handful of Mysterio missions under their collective belt, they’re starting to feel more comfortable, but there’s always some adrenaline involved when everything’s going down.

William turns in his chair as Beck passes. “Hey, don’t you think that was a little risky?” he asks. “Threatening Mariah Hill?”

Admittedly, that had been kind of spur-of-the-moment on Beck’s part. What can he say? He likes to improv.

“No, see, if I try too hard to stay on her good side, that’ll definitely tip her off that something’s up,” Beck explains. “I think it’s better for her to see Mysterio as sort of a tortured, lone wolf hero who plays by his own rules than… well, you know. Me.” He shrugs. “Her primary concern will be winning me over, not investigating me.”

William hums thoughtfully. “Oh, huh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense. You always were better at the people side of things, man.”

Beck grins, clapping William’s shoulder. “Course I am,” he says good-naturedly. “It’s your job to manage the tech side of things, and my job to manage the persona and look pretty. I’ll have some lunch sent down for you guys,” he adds, knowing that monitoring the post-mission chatter might take a couple hours.

William nods appreciatively before turning back to his screen. “Thanks, Beck.”

Beck exits the stage, the doors whooshing shut behind him. “Hey Edith, did you get that about lunch?”

_“Yes, your request has already been sent.”_

“Okay, cool. Where’s Peter right now?”

_“Peter is in the work out room. Would you like me to contact him?”_

“Nah that’s okay, I’ll just head over.” Beck turns down the hall. “Anything happen while I was meeting with Hill?”

_“You have ten interview requests from national television stations, a 17.5% increase in search results, a 96.8% approval rating, forty-nine new fan sites, and a street in New Hampshire being named after you. Congratulations.”_

Beck whistles. “New Hampshire, huh? Not bad.”

There’s a nice buzz in the air as he makes his way through the facility. Anytime he makes an appearance as Mysterio, there’s a lot of activity to keep up with, so his team keeps busy. They also have to make sure the ruse hasn’t been found out by anyone; a risk that always comes with using his drones. And now that Edith is effectively handling the routine threat monitoring protocols by herself, his team is freed up to handle the more fun side of the operation.

Despite Electro’s unexpected involvement, they’ve turned a setback into an advantage. Wins all around.

When Beck walks into the workout room, it’s Virgil he sees first. The older man is leaning on the wall beside the door, watching as Peter swings around. As the one in charge of Peter’s recovery, Virgil’s presence isn’t unexpected. He’s been overseeing Peter’s slow return to physical activity, and fills in for Beck to supervise sometimes.

After about a week of this, they’ve developed a sort of schedule. Peter normally gets some exercise around this time, and it’s reached a point where Beck doesn’t feel the compulsive need to be there for it. Still though, he knows Virgil has been wary to show a lot of involvement with Peter, for fear of incurring Beck’s wrath. He can’t resist teasing him a little.

“Virgil! You started without me?” Beck asks, clapping his hand over his heart. “I’m wounded.”

Virgil gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry, we weren’t sure when you’d be back and I didn’t wanna break his schedule.”

Beck waves him off. “It’s okay. I’ll take it from here, you go get some lunch.”

“Alright, thanks.” Virgil nods in parting at Peter, who’s noticed Beck’s presence and has returned to the ground. 

If Peter’s disappointed that Virgil is leaving, he doesn’t show it. He gives Beck a lazy wave before jogging over, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Hey. Where’d you go today?”

“Just handling some superhero business,” Beck answers mildly. “The world is happy to know that Electro has been taken care of. With no casualties,” he adds with a meaningful look.

Peter’s eyes widen, and Beck can see him put it all together. A fight between Mysterio and Electro is easy enough to stage using the drones, just like with the Beetle and the elementals. So, Beck has used Electro to his advantage, to further establish himself as earth’s new protector. This isn’t surprising to him.

What _does_ seem to surprise him is that Beck didn’t hurt any bystanders in the process. Beck understands; after killing so many in the elemental attack, and sharing his intent to do so again in future endeavors, it might seem odd that he hasn’t leapt at this chance. But with this one, Beck just wanted to instill some confidence in Hill about his position. Bring back an enemy alive- or, of course, whatever Electro is. He wanted to focus on delivering a result instead of getting muddled in a death toll.

Besides, the Electro thing was already garnering enough attention on its own. It felt a little unnecessary to try and get more eyes on the story by causing mass casualties. If _every_ mission he does comes with a large loss, his abilities will be called into question. Best to use the tactic sparingly; introduce high stakes only when he needs to.

And it certainly wasn’t because Peter doesn’t like it when a lot of people die, and Beck feels bad for him having such a hard time lately. Nope.

Whatever conclusion Peter’s come to, he looks at least relieved there weren’t any senseless deaths today. “Oh. That’s good.” Absently, he itches at his wrist.

“Hey, quit scratching,” Beck reminds him.

“Sorry.” Peter drops his hands immediately, clenching and unclenching his fists. “It’s- they’re just itchy. The webshooters don’t feel right against my skin, like- I dunno what it is, if it’s their shape or- or their size, maybe?”

Beck raises an eyebrow. “We kept them as close to your originals as possible, Peter, I doubt, it’s the webshooters.” He glances down at Peter’s hands, noting the red skin around his wrists. “You been picking at your wrists?”

“I don’t mean to,” Peter says, ducking his head. “I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”

Beck sighs. “If you don’t stop scratching them, they’ll never heal,” he chides, putting his hand on his hip. “Do we need to get you like, some rubber gloves to wear? Mittens? I wore a pair when I got chicken pox as a kid, super helpful.”

 _“No,_ I don’t need _mittens,”_ Peter huffs, rolling his eyes. He folds his arms. “I’ll be more careful.”

“If you say so.” Beck leans against the wall, his arm automatically wrapping around his sling. “Other than that, feeling alright?”

Peter nods. “Yeah, for the most part. It’s mostly just my feet that are still sensitive- that, and my mouth?” He rubs at his jaw to emphasize his point. “I’m starting to worry that the shock, like, fried my nerves or something.”

Beck frowns. “Want some painkillers?”

Peter pauses, giving Beck a sideways look. “No thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Beck rolls his eyes. Clearly, Peter still hasn’t gotten over the tranquilizer thing, and he’s willing to suffer through pain to make his point. “Will your martyr complex allow an ice pack, at least?” he asks.

Peter flushes a little, but nods. “That- that’d be nice, yeah,” he amends.

That’s something. “Alright. I’ll have one brought up to you once we’re done here,” Beck promises. “Itchy wrists aside, are the shooters okay?”

“Yeah, they work fine.” Peter lowers his gaze, pretending to fiddle with the webshooters as his brows furrow. “Why- why go through the trouble of making these, anyways?”

Beck hums noncommittally. “Well, you’re not really yourself unless you get to swing around a little.” That’s putting it lightly. It hadn’t even been a question whether he was going to replace the webshooters than Electro had fried or not; Peter needed it too badly.

Peter presses his lips into a thin line, still avoiding Beck’s gaze. “Why do you care?” he asks softly.

The tone of his voice gives Beck pause. Normally, a question like that would’ve held heat in it. It would’ve been accusatory; why would Beck care about something like this, when he’s done so many horrible things to Peter? But Peter sounds thoughtful, as if he genuinely wants to know.

Beck considers the question. “Maybe even someone as evil as me can be sympathetic from time to time. Or maybe I just don’t like it when you’re twitchy.” He shrugs his shoulder. “But hey, if it bothers you that much, I can just take them back-”

“No, no, no, that’s okay,” Peter says quickly, making Beck grin.

“Alright, good. Now, would you mind giving me a demonstration?”

Peter brightens at that, nodding eagerly before jogging off into the room. Beck can tell he’s relieved that the confusing conversation has ended, and he can get back to his swinging. The idea that Beck might actually care about him is something that he seems to be struggling with.

And for good reason, of course. Beck’s having a hard time accepting it, himself. But really, he can’t deny it any longer. Not after deciding to keep Peter alive. So, he does care about Peter and his wellbeing, to some degree. That complicates things slightly. It also means failure isn’t an option. If he can’t win Peter over, but he can’t kill him, either, _and_ he cares about Peter enough to not want to see him suffer needlessly, then he’s royally screwed.

But Beck suspects he’s closer to his goal than Peter realizes. He hasn’t lashed out at Beck once since Electro. Part of that is probably just plain exhaustion; after nearly dying and having to deal with a hard recovery, Peter simply doesn’t have the energy to hold a grudge against Beck.

The rest of it, though… maybe there’s a part of Peter- however subconscious it may be- that has finally stopped seeing Beck as an enemy. Wishful thinking, maybe. Who knows.

During Beck’s pondering, Peter’s already made it up the wall and onto one of the many high platforms installed in the workout room. He barely takes a second to evaluate before he catapults off the edge, shooting a web at the pillar opposite him.

It’s so _effortless,_ the way he moves through the air. Not even effortless like a trained gymnast moves, effortless in an inhuman way. Beck knows from his research and firsthand experience that during fights, Peter can be a little more sporadic and clumsy. Especially if it’s a fight that takes him by surprise, not one that he initiates. But right now, in this unbothered state, Peter couldn’t be more at home up there.

Absently, Beck remembers that he’s supposed to be evaluating the webshooters’ performance, not Peter’s. But it’s as he expected; they’re near perfect replicas. And despite his earlier complaining, Peter seems to have taken to them well enough. There’s no awkward fumbling as he twists and vaults through the air. All in all, Beck’s satisfied with their work.

As Peter jumps into his next swing, a muscle spasm hits. His whole body tenses up, eyes shut tight in pain. Rather than arc up, he continues forward, tumbling unceremoniously to the ground. It’s not a particularly _hard_ landing, but Beck jolts upright, his heart missing a beat. 

“You okay?” he calls, unable to entirely keep the anxiety out of his voice.

After a moment, Peter rolls onto his back and throws his arms up in the air. “And when are _those_ gonna stop?” he complains, more annoyed than anything.

Beck breathes a sigh of relief. This kid is giving him gray hairs. “Hey, Virgil _did_ say it’d be a few weeks,” he reminds him.

Peter picks himself up off the ground. “It feels like it already has been,” he grumbles, dusting off his knees. The light catches the glint of frustrated tears in his eyes.

Beck softens. It’s pretty clear that Peter isn’t used to taking this long to recover from injuries- a benefit of his healing abilities, no doubt. “Listen,” he says, “I know it feels like slow going, but you’ve already come a long way. I mean, I can’t think of anyone else who’d be up and moving so soon after a shock like that.”

Peter’s hand twitches towards his wrist before he catches himself, running it through his hair instead. “Yeah… yeah, I guess so,” he concedes with a small smile.

Beck smiles back. “Hey, chin up. You’ll be bouncing off the walls in no time. Just don’t overdo it too fast.”

“I won’t,” Peter says good-naturedly, slipping off the webshooters.

Beck didn’t even have to ask him to hand them over; more progress. He tucks them away. “Now, let’s see about getting you an ice pack for that toothache.”

Peter falls into step beside him. “After lunch?” he asks hopefully.

Beck chuckles. “After lunch,” he agrees.

What a nice day this is turning out to be.

~*~

Peter bolts upright in bed.

It’s not completely dark in his room- even at night, Herod has a little light on. It’s been like that since Peter had his first big nightmare in captivity, that awful night that seems so far away now. And while he does still have nightmares from time to time, they aren’t nearly as bad. As childish as it feels, the nightlight helps.

He takes quick stock of his room. Other than the drone, he’s alone. The hall outside his door is quiet, dark, and still. Nothing’s happening, it’s just another boring night. So why does it feel like something’s wrong?

Tiredly, Peter rubs his face- and then immediately jerks back in pain. The soreness that’s taken residence in his upper jaw lately has intensified, like someone’s hammering a nail into his teeth. As he recovers himself, he suddenly feels something in his mouth.

Peter spits into his hand. In the faint light, he can barely make out the shape of a tooth cupped in his palm. Stunned, he rubs his thumb over it, just to make sure it’s really there. It’s slick with blood and saliva but it’s _real;_ one of his canines, he thinks.

Okay, so he’s having a nightmare where his teeth are falling out. That’s a common nightmare to have, right?

Except as he feels around with his tongue, there’s something else occupying the place of his missing tooth. The instant he makes contact with it, a searing pain rips through his jaw and the taste of blood fills his mouth. A pained cry escapes him, its echo harsh and loud in the small room-

It’s _loud,_ it’s impossibly loud, why can he hear it so loud?

And the next thing Peter knows, he’s on the floor. He doesn’t even remember falling out of bed but there’s pain all over, pain in his mouth and his head and his legs- no, no, no, not _legs,_ the other ones, on the front, what are they? _Arms,_ there’s pain where his arms break off into his hands- wrists, that’s it. They burn, burn, _burn,_ he wants it to stop, he has to make it _stop._

He claws at them, his _wrists,_ and the scent of blood is overwhelming now. It’s maddening. His own pulse beats against his skull, his heart is racing fast, so _fast._ His eyes are closed and he’s hardly aware of the world around him, too consumed by pain and panic and _get them out, get them out, get them out._

Absently, he feels vibrations shudder through the floor- seconds before he registers the sound of the door opening. Footsteps, lots of them, loud voices with garbled words, too much, _too much._ The lights come on, making him curl further into himself- too bright, he feels exposed, his hair standing on end. _Go away go away go away._ He hisses a warning as he continues tearing at his wrists.

His warning is not heeded. More smells cloud his senses as they approach, their presence felt more than seen, reaching for his arms-

He strikes blindly, an audible _snap_ echoing in his ears as his teeth close on empty air, a hair-length’s away from flesh. A fresh wave of pain erupts in his mouth, blood dripping down his chin- the smell is strong, _so strong-_ but he pays it no mind. Hands are grabbing him, holding him down, and he writhes against them, lashing out with all his strength. He can’t stand them touching him. He needs to get out, he needs to move, his _wrists-_

There’s a sharp prick in his shoulder.

Then everything goes dark.

~*~


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Warnings:** Language, mild/internalized ableism, very mild body horror-ish medical talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hi readers! Thanks for all the well-wishes, my family is fully recovered and doing just fine! It's been so exciting to see your response to this point. This chapter was a great chance for me to play with some of my knowledge as a biology major, but I'm also taking some liberties because it's fanfiction set in the MCU where real life scenarios go out the window. So just take it for what it is and don't stress about the details, cause there's a fair bit of scientific talk in this one! - Aqua

Chapter Twenty-Four

~*~

Beck’s nap is interrupted by Edith’s voice in his ear.

_“You have an incoming call from home base.”_

Jolting, Beck sits upright in his seat, looking around. The first-class section of the plane is relatively sparse- he’s got the row to himself, which is nice, and there aren’t any prying flight attendants in his immediate vicinity. It was fortunate to find a flight to New York on such short notice; a request to for Mysterio to appear on a popular talk show isn’t something to be ignored.

Adjusting his earpiece- a modified Bluetooth that lets him hear Edith- Beck checks his watch. It’s only been a couple hours since takeoff, about the halfway point of the flight. He can’t imagine what could’ve possibly transpired since he left base that would warrant a call, but he’s not going to risk ignoring it.

Beck gets up and makes the awkward shuffle down the aisle of the plane, stepping over legs that have stretched out and carry-ons that have spilled over, before closing himself into the first-class lavatory. The small space feels even more cramped with his bulky cast still slung across his chest.

Keeping his voice low, Beck answers the call. “You’re lucky we’re at cruising altitude. What is it?”

 _“We’ve got a situation.”_ It’s William’s voice that answers, and he sounds shaken.

“What kind of situation?” Beck asks, the last of his annoyance falling away into concern. “Is it Hill?” His thoughts immediately go to the conversation he’d had with her just that morning; maybe he hadn’t been as convincing as she thought, or the Electro decoy had failed.

_“No, it’s Peter. He woke up and had this random freak-out, like his mouth was bleeding and he was scratching up his wrists, tried to attack us-”_

“Is he okay?” Beck demands, his heart starting to race.

 _“We managed to tranquilize him, but not before he tried to take a chunk out of Mark’s arm.”_ There’s a loud exhale. _“It was insane, he was like a wild animal. The footage from Herod should be uploaded, if you wanted to see for yourself.”_

“Edith, playback surveillance footage from Herod,” Beck orders quickly.

 _“Copy,”_ Edith replies.

From his watch, an image pops up. Beck is well-accustomed to the grainy, greyscale view of nighttime surveillance, and the sight is familiar; Peter laying in bed, sleeping. Abruptly, he sits up and seems to rub at his mouth before recoiling in pain. Then he… spits into his hand? Beck can’t see well from his angle, but Peter’s staring at his hand in sort of a stupor.

And then his body seizes up, with so much force it actually throws him off the bed and onto the floor. The situation rapidly devolves from there, and Beck suddenly feels like he’s watching a clip from a horror movie. The way Peter’s moving is so utterly inhuman, it sends chills down his spine.

“Jesus,” Beck breathes. “Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

 _“I’ve got Virgil here with me,”_ William says in reply.

“Good, let me talk to him.”

After a pause, Virgil’s voice comes on. _“Hey, Beck.”_ He sounds tired, and not just because it’s in the middle of the night- he sounds completely worn out.

Beck skips the pleasantries. “How are his vitals?”

_“Heartrate’s slightly elevated and he’s running a mild fever, but he’s stable. Still unconscious.”_

Beck takes a steadying breath. “Alright, talk me through what’s going on.”

There’s a hesitation before Virgil speaks. _“I wish I could, but we aren’t equipped to care for him. We don’t have the skills or knowledge. I have no idea what’s wrong with him, and I can’t even begin to tell how I’d go about finding out, much less treating him. If this is serious, then his chances are poor if he stays with us.”_

Beck blinks. “If he stays with- what are you even _suggesting,_ that we- that we turn him over?!” he asks incredulously. “That’s not an option.”

_“We aren’t qualified to provide this kind of specialized care for a patient with mutant spider powers, Beck.”_

“Then find someone who is!” Beck snaps, barely able to keep himself from raising his voice. “I don’t care who they are, I don’t care what it takes to get them there, just do it! Pay whatever they ask, make the transportation arrangements, anything. Got it?”

Virgil’s tone is clipped. _“Understood.”_

“Good. Then go, hand me back to William and get started on that, _now.”_

Another pause filled with muffled feedback. _“William here. Is there anything else?”_

Beck grinds his teeth. There are still a good couple hours before they land, and then it’ll take another four-hour flight to get back, not to mention wait time and actually driving out to the base. But he doesn’t have any other options.

“As soon as we land,” he says, “I’m getting onto the first return flight.”

_“What? But you’ll miss your interview-”_

“It’s just The Tonight Show.”

_**“Just** The Tonight Show? Come on, you know how great this would be for Mysterio’s image. You can’t drop everything just because Peter-”_

“There’ll be other opportunities. I’ll call and let them know I can’t make it, come up with some bullshit superhero excuse. It’s fine.”

Clearly unhappy, William gives a heavy sigh. _“Alright, you’re the boss…”_

“Damn right I am,” Beck growls before hanging up.

He takes a moment to compose himself, splashing his face with water from the sink. An airplane bathroom is probably the least dignified place he’s ever conducted business from, but he doesn’t always get to choose these things.

What’s _really_ inconvenient is that he can’t head back right away. Already he can feel impatience starting to bubble up inside him, as he thinks about the approaching hours where he won’t be able to do anything but wait, not knowing if Peter’s going to be alright or not. _Of course_ it had to happen now, when he’s thousands of miles up in the air.

But he needs to keep his cool. Attracting attention to himself could blow his cover- which is shaky as it is, consisting only of glasses and a ballcap. He’s a good actor and the arm cast helps throw people off, especially because no one would be expecting to run into Mysterio at an airport, since the hero can fly. But the less closely people look at him, the better.

He rubs his eyes behind his glasses. “Edith, would you play a meditation soundtrack?” he mumbles before letting himself out of the lavatory.

It’s about to be a long several hours.

~*~

It’s early in the morning when Beck finally returns to base, the sun yet to rise over the mountains in the distance.

He immediately makes for the med floor, bypassing hellos. There aren’t many people around as it is, most of them presumably having returned to bed after their rude awakening. Updates from Edith were few and far between, during the long waiting hours. He knows they managed to find a specialist, but things must’ve been hectic for a while because he doesn’t know much else.

He could _really_ go for a coffee right now to break through the jetlag, and a shower to wash the smell of airport off him, but there’s no time to waste.

Virgil seems to have been on his way to meet Beck, nearly walking into him as he comes up the stairwell.

Beck gets straight to the point. “Where is he?”

“In the lab,” Virgil answers, falling into step beside him. “He’s stable, but we’re keeping him sedated for now, on the specialist’s recommendation. She got here a couple hours ago, already been running tests.”

Beck nods. “Good. I’ll go talk to her, now.”

“Alright.” They come to a stop outside the lab doors, Virgil turning to face him. “Heads up though, she’s a bit much at first. We didn’t have a lot of options in terms of qualified people who wouldn’t, ah, disagree with our operation.”

Beck raises an eyebrow. “Okay? I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He softens slightly. “You should go get some rest now, I’m sure it’s been a crazy night.”

Virgil gives a tight smile. “Sure has. I’ll leave you to it, then.” He pats Beck on the shoulder before departing.

Beck watches him go, frowning. It still bothers him that Virgil had even _entertained_ the idea of them giving Peter up, but what bothers him more is that deep down, he knows Virgil is right. If whatever this is ends up killing Peter, then it’s Beck’s fault.

Squaring his shoulders, Beck pushes the thought away. He won’t let it come to that. And with this in mind, he enters the lab.

A blonde woman sits cross-legged on a rolling stool, pulled up to one of the long lab benches covered with medical equipment. At a glance, she’s around Beck’s age, with a pointed nose and a strong chin. Her wavy hair is tumbling out of a messy bun, a pair of lab goggles pushed up on her forehead. Her lab coat is open, revealing an old Fleetwood Mac T-shirt tucked into high-waisted jeans, a ring of keys hanging off a belt loop.

The right sleeve of her lab coat is tied off at the elbow, where her arm seems to end. Her left hand is gloved, and works diligently at some kind of scientific device that Beck can’t even begin to name. She’s wearing earbuds, nodding her head and mouthing the words of a song.

No one else is in the room, save for Peter. The kid is asleep inside a small observation room towards the back of the lab, the front wall made entirely out of glass. Beck can make out a jumble of monitoring equipment hooked up to him, and the thick straps holding him down to the hospital bed- a precaution, he’d guess, because Peter looks soundly unconscious.

Beck turns his attention to the woman, clearing his throat to announce himself.

The woman glances over at Beck’s approach, breaking into a grin that shows off prominent dimples. “Hey there!” she greets him, setting down the instrument to pull out her earbuds and drape them around her neck. “You must be Mr. Beck.”

Beck comes to a stop before her, only just managing to stop himself from holding out his right hand for her to shake. He settles for a nod instead, smiling politely. “That’s right, Dr…?”

“Oh, Cait’s fine,” she assures him, looking him up and down with bright eyes. “You a last name kinda guy? I’m not, makes me think of my parents. So, Mr. Beck, that your first or last?”

She has a chattering way of talking that Beck finds off-putting. He feels his smile begin to strain. “My name is Quentin Beck, but you can call me Beck. Now, can we-”

“Good!” Cait interrupts, looking pleased. “Good, that’s good, you don’t look like a Quentin. No offense. And hey, we’re arm buddies!” she exclaims, poking his sling with an even wider grin. “Wanna split pairs of gloves with me? I keep left, you keep right?”

“I don’t wear gloves,” Beck says flatly. Not to mention he can take the cast off in a week and will be back to using both hands just fine.

Cait pouts. “Aw, not for anything? Boring. I might send you all my right gloves anyways, I don’t need them.” By way of explanation, she gestures to the stump of her right arm. “Osteosarcoma, got the diagnosis a week after finishing grad school. Super progressive, amputated by the end of the month. What a bummer, right?” she asks, cocking her head and looking not at all bummed.

Beck is starting to understand why Virgil warned him beforehand. “Listen, I’m not trying to be rude,” he says tightly, “but could we please focus on the task at hand?”

“Hah, nice hand pun, Beck. And sure!” Cait hops off the stool, letting it roll away from under her, and briskly walks towards the room where Peter’s being kept. 

Pushing down his irritation, Beck follows, jogging a bit to catch up and fall into step beside Cait. She takes the opportunity to strike up conversation.

“You know,” she starts, “when I heard Spidey boy was dead, I remember thinking it was strange. But no way did I think it was staged and that he was secretly being held captive by the very hero who avenged his death!” She throws out her arm for emphasis, gushing like she’s reviewing a movie. “That’s good, that’s real clever shit. But now you’ve got this spider problem, yeah?”

Beck lets the first part of her tirade go unacknowledged. “Yeah, you could say that. Did they bring you up to speed?”

Cait nods eagerly as they reach the door to the observation room, pulling it open for them. “More or less. So basically this happened out of nowhere, right?” she asks, walking to Peter’s bedside.

Beck hesitates, looking over Peter’s sleeping face as he comes closer. It’s disheartening to see him back in a hospital bed so soon after the last time. His skin is pale and clammy, forehead beaded with sweat. Clearly, it’s not a restful sleep.

“Actually,” Beck says, “come to think of it, he’d been complaining about soreness in his teeth and wrists for… the last week or so? But he was recovering from a bad electric shock, so we assumed-”

“Mmmm, I see! Any other times?” Cait asks expectantly.

“There… was this _one_ time,” Beck recalls, guilt starting to gnaw at him. “When we were transporting him to this facility, he woke up from the tranquilizer, really out of it, and later said he’d had a very… intense sensory experience, I guess, is what you’d call it. But there was nothing wrong with him, and it didn’t happen again so-”

“Right, right, more assumptions.” Cait waves him off. “That’s okay! We can’t always be prepared for these things, you know.” She turns to the mound of equipment parked by Peter’s bed, a computer among them, and starts tapping at the keyboard. “Now, before you got here, I went ahead and took some standard tests on him. Bloodwork, DNA analysis, and an MRI.”

Beck raises his eyebrows, impressed despite himself. “You’ve been busy.”

Cait laughs. “Please, based on the kind of work I normally do, this stuff’s routine. Didn’t take a second. I’m still waiting on a couple results to come back but based on what I’ve already found, I think I can shed some light on the subject.”

Beck whistles. “Wow, alright then. By all means.”

Humming, Cait looks over the screen before nodding to herself and turning back to Beck. “Are you familiar with how viruses operate?”

Admittedly, Beck’s last foray into the natural sciences was a long time ago. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me, anyways?” he suggests tiredly.

Oblivious, Cait is happy to oblige. “Viruses aren’t really alive, not by definition. You can think of them like little machines that inject foreign DNA into the host. That DNA then basically hijacks the cells inside the host and alters them, making them produce more copies of the virus. That’s how they spread through the entire organism from a single point. This radioactive mutant spider DNA is behaving like a virus. It’s trying to take over his cells and force them to make more of it, more spider DNA, converting his cells to ones of its original organism.” She eyes him, and then emphasizes, “that is, the radioactive mutant spider.”

Beck fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Right, got that part. How far is this gonna progress? Like, on a scale of one to ten, how much ‘spider’ is he going to become?”

“Nothing too crazy!” Cait assures him. “At this stage in his life, there is a hard limit on what can and can’t be changed physically, according to his body map. Like, there aren’t any structures in place that can be mutated into extra limbs, if that was a concern of yours. And this DNA can’t just create those out of nothing.” She looks thoughtful. “If he’d been bitten while in an earlier point of development, maybe then…”

“So what _can_ it do?” Beck asks warily.

“Well, for starters…” Cait turns towards Peter and pulls back his upper lip with her finger.

Beck leans over to look. Peter’s gums are red, but whether it’s from blood or irritation, he can’t say. Both of Peter’s canine teeth are gone, and in their place are two sharp, pointed white tips.

“We can clearly see the beginnings of fangs coming in,” Cait continues. “I mean, not _true_ spider fangs. That’s part of their exoskeleton usually and he can’t make that. But human bodies _can_ make teeth. And while this only happens when we’re babies, the machinery that produces them is still there, so the spider DNA took control of that and stimulated the production of new, altered teeth.”

Beck absorbs this information slowly. Alright, Peter’s growing fangs. And they pushed out his adult teeth- that _had_ to have been painful, more than Peter let on. “That definitely explains the toothache,” he says, nonplussed.

“I’ll say!” Cait laughs, drawing back her hand. “They resemble what are called jackknife chelicerae in spiders. Usually they’re made of two parts; a basal appendage that’s part of the exoskeleton, and then the fang itself, like a needle on the end. He’s just got the needle part, but other than being really wicked sharp, these fangs are just like his normal teeth- _except_ there’s a little hollow channel in the center of them.” She holds a finger up. “More on that in a sec.”

Suddenly she’s typing at the computer again, bringing up a table with three columns labeled ‘Human,’ ‘Spider,’ and ‘Subject.’ The rows on the side are different chemical names. Some Beck recognizes, others he doesn’t, and each one gets a positive or negative sign for each column.

Despite not having context, Beck realizes quickly that the chemicals marked positive for ‘Human’ are negative for ‘Spider,’ and vice versa. Except for the last column, ‘Subject,’ which has all the same positives as ‘Human’ but with several from the ‘Spider’ column, too.

Cait explains. “My tests picked up markers of chemicals that are found in spider venom, chemicals that normally wouldn’t be found in a human. So, he’ll probably be producing venom, which is injected through those hollow channels in his fangs. The muscles around those fangs, in his upper jaw, are probably going to specialize to give him control of injection. I found a lot of irritation in that area, structures that could be rudimentary venom glands. I think they’re still developing, and based on the timeline you set, they’ll be fully formed by the end of the week. I’d recommend keeping him under until then.”

Beck rubs his temple. Alright, now Peter’s venomous. Sure, why not? “Anything else?” He’s almost scared to ask.

Cait lights up. “Yeah! About his wrists...”

Beck follows her gaze. Peter’s wrists are in a bad way. Angry red scratches are clawed over them haphazardly, like a toddler drew on them with crayon. It chills Beck to think about how they were self-inflicted.

Cait takes Peter’s limp hand by the wrist, gently brushing her thumb over his skin. It crumbles away like it’s old and dead, revealing new, pink skin underneath. She then flexes Peter’s hand back, mimicking the way he’d shoot a web, and something appears- Beck can just make out a small opening on Peter’s wrist, no bigger than a pinhead.

“He did a number on them, but here we see the formation of a spinneret,” Cait says, her tone full of hushed excitement. “It only looks like one protrusion, but it’s actually tons of tiny little channels that all work together, each producing a filament that lends to the single, thick thread of silk. What’s neat about this is that it allows for different combinations to make different kinds of silk!”

“Silk, like spider silk.” Beck runs his hand through his hair. On the one hand, it’s good to know Peter had a _reason_ for nearly tearing his own skin off, but on the other hand; spinnerets. “So he- he’s making his own _web_ now?”

“He will, once they’d done developing!” Cait affirms. “Not totally sure why they’ve formed on the wrists, since the spinneret is located on the abdomen in spiders, but trust me, this is _way_ more favorable. Maybe that’s why he did the swinging-from-wrist-webs thing in the first place; the DNA was already trying to establish that ability inside him but it had to work with the body he has. Bipedalism is a totally different game. So, subconsciously, he’s already been developing these instincts for years. It just takes a while for the physical side of things to develop.”

Beck picks through the lengthy explanation, his brows furrowing. The jetlag certainly isn’t helping him make sense of all this. “So, you think this has been going on since he was bitten?” he surmises.

Cait tilts her hand in a so-so motion. “Yes, and no. I’m sure the spider DNA virus thing has been doing its best to turn him into a real spider boy since the bite, but that’s a tall order. Human bodies are, all things considered, pretty good at stopping viruses, we can make antibodies against them. So what I think is that after he was bitten, the first changes happened fast because they took his body by surprise. That’s the enhanced speed, strength, durability, and agility. And if you think about it, all of those are just extensions of what he was already working with. It wasn’t adding anything new to him.”

Beck nods slowly. “That makes sense.”

“Over time,” Cait continues, “his body wises up to this virus, starts resisting it. The bigger changes are put on hold. But, from what I’ve been told, he’s been under a lot of stress for the past few months.” A knowing look comes into her eyes. “Physical, emotional stress. That weakens a body’s immune system, big time. And that might’ve been the opening the spider DNA needed in order to attack his cells and set those changes into production.”

A hard pit has formed in Beck’s stomach. Even discounting the shock Peter received from Electro, he’s been in an almost constant state of distress since being captured, thanks to Beck. Particularly in the early days, when Beck went out of his way to antagonize him- he barely got a full night’s sleep. The news broadcasts, the threat on his friends’ lives, the Stark illusion… that’s a lot of stress.

“So, you’re saying that if he… if he _hadn’t_ been under all that stress, this wouldn’t have happened?” Beck asks carefully.

Cait hums noncommittally. “Oooh, hard to say. Maybe not, but more likely it would’ve just taken a gradual approach instead of this extreme reaction.”

Beck glances down at Peter’s sleeping form. “Is any of it reversible?”

“Nope!” Cait says cheerfully, popping the ‘p.’ “Not without some seriously heavy surgery, anyways, and even then, I wouldn’t risk it. Like, if you pull out his fangs, who’s to say it wouldn’t make more to replace them? That DNA is part of him now, and the radioactive mutant side of it makes it impossible to predict what it’s capable of.”

Well, there goes that option. “I see.”

“Besides, why the hell would you wanna reverse it?” Cait asks, incredulous. “This is cool as shit!”

Beck has a hunch Peter won’t see it that way, but he doesn’t bring it up. “Just wondering. Is there anything else?”

“Sure, I-” There’s a ding back at the lab tables, making Cait break off. “Oh, hang on! Got another result back.”

And without another word, Cait sweeps out of the room with surprising speed. Beck closes his eyes and counts to ten. “Why do I always get stuck with nutjobs, Edith?” he mutters under his breath.

Edith’s voice filters out of his watch. _“63% of your personnel have been marked as ‘unstable’ or ‘somewhat-unstable’ in psychiatric evaluations,”_ she reports unhelpfully.

Beck sighs. “Thanks, Edith.” He supposes most fully sane people wouldn’t get wrapped up in a crazy operation like this- himself included. Personality disorders are a bitch. He gives Peter a pat on the arm, reminding himself why he’s putting up with this obliviously annoying scientist, before leaving to join her.

In the lab, Cait is once again perched on the stool at the table, one of her knees tucked to her chest as she looks through the eyepiece of a microscope. Now that he’s looking at it, Beck realizes it isn’t one of theirs; it’s covered in random stickers and other personal touches, like a bead necklace looped around the arm and googly-eyes stuck to the top.

“Oh, by the way, this is Debby.” Cait seems to have sensed his question. “I got fed up trying to find the perfect left-handed microscope, so I built my own. Ain’t she a beauty?”

Beck snorts. Of course she had to go and ramp up the nutjob factor. “As far as microscopes go, I suppose.” He watches Cait’s hand fly across the various dials and knobs, adjusting the scope little by little. “I don’t mean to pry here,” he ventures, “but why not use a prosthetic?”

Cait answers without looking up. “Well, there aren’t a lot of models that are refined enough for the kind of delicate work I do. But I don’t want one, anyways.” Her voice softens. “I guess it sorta fuels me, my drive to find a cure for this kind of stuff without just… replacing the part with metal and moving on. I think our bodies could be capable of so much more than we know. And besides,” she adds, recovering her emphatic tone, “Mama didn’t raise a quitter.”

Amusement pulls at Beck’s lip, and he holds his hand up. “Alright, fair enough.”

Cait studies through the microscope for another minute before sitting back. “Okay so, it looks like the venom he’ll be producing is a kind of paralyzing agent, nonlethal. Good news! Or bad news, if you were hoping to weaponize it.” She shrugs. “Either way, that’s what it is.”

Beck blinks at that. “Alright. What was it you were saying before?”

“Oh, yeah! The brainy side of things.” Cait snatches a clipboard off the table, scanning it briefly before propping it against her knee. “So, I don’t think his brain is going to turn into a spider brain. Meaning, he’s not going to suddenly be a wild animal. What I _do_ think is that he’ll have animal-like, or spider-like, instincts and urges at times. Likely scenarios are moments of high stress, danger, or other base needs- like if he gets really, really hungry.”

Despite not having been present for Peter’s earlier freak out, Beck is not eager for a repeat. The footage alone was disturbing enough. “Okay, and how do we deal with that?”

Cait drums her fingers against the clipboard. “I’m not really in the psych department- or I guess, the _animal_ psych department, but my best bet would be giving him an outlet to satisfy those instincts in a constructive manner. Like, if he starts getting the urge to hunt, it’d be better if you gave him the opportunity to do it safely rather than him trying to hunt people, right?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Beck’s already starting to get ideas for how he can modify the illusion tech into training programs for Peter. “I think I can work something out.”

Cait glances at her notes again. “Web-making is a strong spider instinct, you’ll probably see that- don’t worry about it, it’s harmless. His sense of smell and hearing are gonna be heightened- more than they are already- and he’ll be more sensitive to vibrations, an ability to pick up on them more.”

“Is his eyesight going to improve?” Beck asks curiously.

Cait shakes her head. “Eyesight will stay the same, or even get worse as it adjusts to better take in light rather than clear images. Spiders don’t really use sight other than to detect the shadow of a predator swooping down on them, or movement of their prey. And speaking of, if he gets any weird food cravings, it’s cause his chemical needs have changed, so do your best to provide them. In addition, I can send you a list of what supplements I think he should be taking, to mimic the nutrients he’d get from a spider’s diet.” She pauses, looking at him. “I assume you don’t want him actually eating bugs?”

Beck grimaces at the thought. “Yeah, no, let’s avoid that.”

Cait nods, satisfied, and scribbles down a note on the paper. “Supplements it is, then. I’ll make also sure to recap everything we talked about so you’ll have it for reference.”

“Thanks.” Beck takes a steadying breath. “You know, normally I wouldn’t get why someone would dedicate their entire life to studying spiders. But in this case, I’m glad for it.”

Cait looks surprised. “Oh, spiders aren’t my specialty. I’m technically a geneticist, but I mostly study reptiles. Lizard DNA, and its application to human medicine.” Her perkiness fades somewhat, a clouded expression coming over her. “Or, I _did,_ until I lost my license for starting unauthorized human trials. For good reason, though!” she adds emphatically, slapping the clipboard back onto the table. “Those regulations are just there to stop real progress from happening.”

Ah, and there’s the common thread between all the people Beck employs; distrust or disdain for the system. “Of course,” he agrees knowingly.

“But anyways, a lot of the same principles of genetics carry over from species to species, so I’m glad I was able to help!” Cait looks back over at Peter, a sort of reverence coming into her gaze. “And I _gotta_ say, he’s an absolutely _incredible_ specimen of human genetic recombination with another species,” she breathes. “He’s given me a lot of insight.”

Beck stiffens at her tone. There’s a look in her eyes that he doesn’t like, a kind of fascination that’s almost… wistful. “Right… you know, I didn’t actually catch your last name…?”

Cait smacks her forehead. “Oh! Duh. It’s Connors, Dr. Cait Connors.” She smiles at him, and for a moment she looks… not manic. “Once I finish up here, I’ll send you that list and be on my way. I wish I could stay ‘til he wakes up, but I’ve got a secret lab full of genetically-modified lizards to get back to,” she says with a wink, the manic light back in her expression.

Beck makes a mental note to keep an eye on her. “Ah, no worries,” he says obligingly. 

“I’d love to meet him, though,” Cait adds, her brows raised with interest. “While he’s conscious, I mean. Maybe I could visit sometime?”

Beck gives a tight smile. “Yeah, maybe. I’ll leave you to it, then. Your payment will be wired to you later today. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

Cait nods, putting her earbuds back in. “This was fun, Beck!” Needlessly, she raises her voice over the music in her ears. “Call me if you ever need any more scientific advice, alright?”

Rather than deign to reply, Beck simply lifts his hand in parting and excuses himself from the lab. He waits for the door to close behind him before speaking.

“Edith, did you get all that?”

 _“Yes,”_ Edith replies, _“all relevant information has been added to database files on target Peter Parker.”_

Beck breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank god, you’re a lifesaver. I don’t think that woman knows how to summarize. And hey, while you’re at it, mind putting a watch on Cait Connors? If she’s gonna try and like, turn people into lizards, I wanna know about it beforehand.”

_“Copy.”_

Beck smooths his hand over his hair. His mind is still spinning from the sheer amount of information. Though he’d started to suspect there was more to Peter’s powers a while ago, nothing could’ve prepared him for something of this severity. Venomous fangs and spinning webs… it’s going to be hard for Peter to adjust to, that’s for certain.

And it’s going to be hard to focus on his business as Mysterio with this hanging over him. There’s nothing to do but wait for the changes to finish developing, and he won’t know how drastically they’ll affect Peter until he wakes up. It’s a lot of uncertainty, and Beck hates uncertainty.

But whatever comes next, he knows they can handle it. And who knows, maybe it’ll provide new opportunities regarding Peter. As Beck’s discovered lately, one of his greatest strengths is the ability to roll with the punches, turn a setback into an advantage.

Only time will tell.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** In case you haven't put it together, Cait is my version of the classic Spider-Man villain, The Lizard (AKA Dr. Kurt Connors). Her revamp was heavily inspired by the revamped Doc Ock that appeared in Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse, and I imagine her played by Kate McKinnon. NOW she's just a one-off here and won't be appearing in the remaining chapters, but I wanted to introduce her in case I ever write a sequel she could feature more in.
> 
> And speaking of remaining chapters, you might have noticed that this fic now has a set number of chapters! Currently I anticipate there being 30 chapters to this fic, give or take, including the epilogue. We're actually pretty close to the end now and I'm insanely excited for what I've got planned. Hope you enjoyed, **please leave a comment** if you did and I'll see you next time! - Aqua

**Author's Note:**

>  **A/N:** My current plan is to update every other Saturday, though that might change once school starts up again. If you like this fic, please support it by commenting and leaving kudos, and if you bookmark, consider telling me why you like the story enough to bookmark it! Remember, fanfic authors are only compensated with feedback!
> 
> Feel free to stop by my Tumblr aquaquadrant.tumblr.com if you'd like to reblog the fic, ask questions (I'll answer if it's not a spoiler ;3), or even just say hi! And please tag me if you post anything about the fic, I'd love to reblog it! - Aqua


End file.
